


Red Sky at Dawn

by t_a_e_m_i_n



Series: The Hunting [1]
Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Angst?, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Internal Conflict, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Not Beta Read, Tags Are Hard, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28233327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t_a_e_m_i_n/pseuds/t_a_e_m_i_n
Summary: Hwanwoong is his country's latest hero, sent on the same mission as every hero before him: to defeat the villain Ravn, who wants to destroy the country. But when everything goes wrong and Hwanwoong is captured, he learns the ugly truth about Ravn, as well as himself. Unable to return home, Hwanwoong has no choice but to stay with Ravn. Hwanwoong tries to ignore his ever-growing feelings for his nemesis, but they become harder to resist with every day that passes. He tries not to think about it, but deep down he knows; nothing good can come of this.
Relationships: Kim Youngjo | Ravn/Yeo Hwanwoong
Series: The Hunting [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2068206
Comments: 28
Kudos: 51





	1. The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is my first time writing a fic on this platform, and also for this fandom. I hope I can do a good job, and I hope you enjoy!

Hwanwoong was trapped. He was so stupid. How could he have been tricked this easily? He’d trained for so long, prepared almost his entire life for this mission, and he’d already failed. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to do what so many before him had failed to do, he was supposed to defeat Ravn, he was supposed to save the day. 

But instead, he was sitting in a hole near what appeared to be the entrance to a cave, injured, with no way to escape. There was a faint noise coming from the dark mouth of the cave before him. He strained to hear it better, barely breathing. 

Footsteps.

He tensed up at the realization, then winced at the pain. Someone was coming, and they were going to find him, if they didn’t already know he was here. This couldn’t be good. He grimaced. There was no way he could fight. He wasn’t quite sure if they were broken, but from the way his arms and hands were throbbing he was positive they’d been rendered useless. At least, he supposed, he’d been able to protect his head. If he hadn’t used his arms to protect it when he fell, he might be dead right now. Although he was likely going to die very soon anyway, since he was about to be found by the enemy. He just hoped it wasn’t one of Ravn’s henchmen. He’d at least like to be killed by the man himself, so that he didn’t feel as if all his efforts had gone to waste. 

The footsteps had grown much louder. Hwanwoong gulped, and brought his knees close to his chest, hiding his injured arms. He could now hear that there were multiple people approaching, but he couldn’t make out how many. More than he was upset about his most likely imminent death, he was upset by the fact that he’d failed to defeat Ravn. He couldn’t even say he’d come close, and that was distressing. At least he wouldn’t have to return home in shame, and he’d be honored for his sacrifice, but still… all he’d ever dreamed of was returning home as a hero—the man who’d saved his country from the evil trying to destroy it. 

A flickering light appeared within the cave. A torch, most likely. Hwanwoong could see three shadowy figures silhouetted against the light. He stared them down as they drew nearer, but he couldn’t make out any distinct features. Finally, they reached the entrance of the cave, and stepped into the light of the hole. 

Three people stood before him. Two of them, on either side of the torchbearer, wore the black cloaks of henchmen. However, the person in the center wore a cloak of deep blue, embroidered with intricate black designs. Ravn. 

Hwanwoong said nothing, glaring daggers at Ravn, as if that would somehow scare the villainous man away. Ravn handed the torch off to a henchman and took a step towards him, then paused, drawing back the hood of his cloak. To Hwanwoong’s surprise, he was young. Perhaps even close in age to Hwanwoong, but that couldn’t be possible. Ravn had been a threat for as long as Hwanwoong could remember, so he should be in his forties at the very least. Hwanwoong looked closer at Ravn. Dark hair fell over his forehead, so long it hung into dark eyes that—if he hadn’t known Ravn was evil—Hwanwoong would’ve described as soft. He was definitely young, and actually… handsome. Hwanwoong almost gagged as that thought crossed his mind. How could he think that? This man was his enemy. 

Ravn started walking up to Hwanwoong again, until he was standing immediately in front of him. Hwanwoong finally tore his eyes away from Ravn, turning his head to look at the ground beside him. He could hear the shifting of Ravn’s cloak as he bent over, getting closer to his level.

“It’s so rare to get one of you alive,” Ravn murmured. “And such a lovely one too.”

Hwanwoong swallowed, closing his eyes at the gentle brush of fingers along his cheek.

“Don’t worry,” Ravn said. “I don’t want to hurt you, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I can’t say I share the sentiment,” Hwanwoong bit out. “After everything you’ve done.”

A finger slid under his chin, turning his face towards Ravn. Hwanwoong kept his eyes shut, refusing to look at the other man. Ravn tilted his chin upward.

“Open those pretty eyes of yours for me, hm?” His voice was sickly sweet. Hwanwoong didn’t want to, but realized that it was probably the braver thing to do in this situation. All he wanted now was to be brave. He wouldn’t keep his eyes closed as if he was afraid of the man, after all, he couldn’t let Ravn think he was scared. 

Slowly, he opened his eyes and met Ravn’s gaze. Ravn smiled. Hwanwoong flinched. He hated that Ravn’s smile was—like the rest of him—rather pretty.

“What, am I that scary?” Ravn’s smile faded.

Hwanwoong didn’t answer, just continued to stare at Ravn defiantly. Ravn sighed.

“I told you, I’m not going to hurt you. You don’t believe me, though, do you?”

“No,” Hwanwoong spat. “I know what kind of person you are. You’re trying to trick me.” 

Some emotion flashed in Ravn’s eyes, but it disappeared too quickly for Hwanwoong to decipher exactly what. 

“You know nothing about me,” He said quietly. “Now, are you too hurt to stand?” 

“Just kill me now, get it over with. Don’t make me wait any longer than I have to.” Hwanwoong pulled his face out of Ravn’s soft grip. 

“I told you,” Ravn sighed again, standing up straight. “I’m not going to hurt you. Or kill you, if you think those are two different things for some reason. Please believe me. I just want to help you, if I can.” 

“You want to help me? Why don’t you start by letting me kill you.” Hwanwoong snarled. 

“Well, that’s one thing I’m afraid I can’t do.” Ravn almost looked exasperated. 

“Then you can’t do anything for me. There’s nothing else I want but you dead.”

Ravn was silent for what felt like a long time, looking at Hwanwoong with an unreadable expression. Finally, he gestured for the two henchmen standing at the cave’s entrance. Hwanwoong felt a chill run down his spine. He was probably going to die now. 

“Guards,” He called. “Do what you must to get him to come with us, but don’t harm him.” 

The henchmen nodded and approached Hwanwoong as Ravn turned his back on him, receiving his torch and heading for the cave entrance. Why didn’t he kill Hwanwoong? And where did he plan on taking him? Just what sinister things did Ravn plan to do to him?

The henchmen were leaning down now, arms outstretched, reaching for Hwanwoong. He realized that they planned to take him by the arms, and reflexively curled further in on himself, ignoring the fresh wave of pain it sent tearing through his arms. The henchmen, likely having to change their plan at the last minute, grabbed his ankles, pulling them to drag his legs away from his chest. Hwanwoong fought them as best he could, but somehow they were much stronger than him and easily succeeded, exposing his chest and arms. 

“His arms must be injured,” One of the henchmen said quietly, pointing. “Look.”

Hwanwoong glared at the henchmen. He couldn’t use his arms, but if either one of them would just come close enough…

The henchman on his right placed a hand on Hwanwoong’s shoulder. Perfect. He took the opportunity at hand, and bit the henchman’s arm, clamping his jaws down as hard as he could. 

“Shit!” The henchman recoiled in pain, pulling their arm from Hwanwoong’s mouth. It didn’t distract them for long, however, and moments later they turned on Hwanwoong, holding up a hand as if to strike him. Hwanwoong really believed they were going to do it, too, but the other henchman intervened before anything could happen.

“Hey! Remember what the boss said, we can’t hurt him,” They reminded their angry counterpart. “Let’s just sedate him, it’ll be way easier than struggling like this. I don’t think he’ll get any more docile while he’s conscious.” 

The henchman he’d bitten nodded, and began to ruffle through a pocket in their cloak.  
“What are you going to do to me?” Hwanwoong asked, trying to make sure he’d heard them right. He didn’t want to be knocked out. He needed to know the way to wherever he was taken, just in case he had the chance to escape. But the henchmen didn’t answer him. 

The one to his right pulled a jar from their pocket, and from the jar produced a damp cloth. 

“Hold him down,” They directed to the other. “He’ll definitely struggle.”

“Hey, you don’t have to do this.” Hwanwoong said, trying not to sound desperate. He really didn’t want them to sedate him. Once again his words received no response. There was a weight on his legs, and he knew it was the second henchman pinning them down. The first henchman grabbed him roughly by the hair, probably to avoid being bitten a second time, and held the cloth firmly over Hwanwoong’s nose and mouth. He held his breath, knowing that if he breathed in whatever was on the cloth, it was over. He writhed and tried to kick his legs, but to no avail; the henchman holding him down was too strong. He tried to talk, to tell them he’d cooperate, they didn’t have to actually go through with this, but the cloth went into his mouth and prevented him from speaking. It tasted terrible. Black spots danced across his vision. He couldn’t hold his breath anymore, he needed to breathe. 

Hwanwoong gasped for air, but the cloth in his mouth didn’t allow him to get enough. He tried through his nose instead, inhaling the chemical scent of the cloth. He didn’t feel so good. A few moments later and he had stopped trying to fight the henchmen’s grips on him. He was struggling just to keep his eyes open. A few seconds more, and his eyes had drifted shut. 

He woke up in an unfamiliar room, with no memory of getting there.


	2. An Unwilling Guest

Hwanwoong was lying in the softest bed he’d ever felt, in the most lavish room he’d ever seen. Squinting against the near-blinding brightness of the room, he took it all in. Great arching windows lined the wall to his right, lined with curtains of red silk. The sunlight let in by the windows glimmered on a floor that Hwanwoong guessed was made of marble. Looking up, he saw that a golden chandelier dangled from the ceiling above him. He closed his eyes. His head was killing him, and the light in the room wasn’t helping any.

How did he get here again?

He racked his brain for an answer, but he felt so… foggy. Almost like waking up after that time during training when a fellow squadron member had knocked him out…

Oh _shit_. Hwanwoong’s eyes snapped open. Everything from the last day or so came rushing back to him. He’d been captured, and Ravn had taken him away to who knows where. He tried to sit up, but only made it halfway before flopping back down, nauseous. This was bad. He brought a hand to his mouth, freezing at the sensation of something rough brushing against his lips. He held his hand up. The stiff gray material of a cast covered his palm and ran halfway down his arm.

He must’ve broken his arms after all. Or at least, his right one.

Although now that he thought about it, he couldn’t move his other arm at all. Worried, Hwanwoong sat up—fully this time—trying to stifle the wave of nausea the motion sent racing through him. He looked down at his left arm, which was also encased in a cast, except this one was almost all the way to his shoulder. Wonderful. This wasn’t the first time he’d broken a bone or two; he knew it was going to take at least a month for his arms to heal. But that meant he was going to be almost completely defenseless against his captor for that entire time, which could only be trouble. His heart began to race. What was going to happen to him? What was Ravn planning?

At that moment, the room’s wide oak doors swung open, startling Hwanwoong out of his thoughts. However, he felt even more sick than before when he made eye contact with the person entering the room: Ravn.

“My, my, you look rather unwell,” Ravn said, a touch of surprise in his voice. “It must be the sedative. I apologize for that, but it was the easiest way to get you here.”

Hwanwoong watched warily as Ravn approached the foot of the bed.

“What do you want?” He croaked.

“Hm? What do you mean? I’ve just come to see how my guest is faring.” Ravn smiled as he finished speaking.

Guest? More like prisoner. Although Hwanwoong had to admit that normally prisoners probably wouldn’t be housed in such a nice place, or have received medical attention like he had. But this wasn’t a normal situation. This was _Ravn_ who’d taken him prisoner, and he couldn’t trust anything he did. All of the luxury currently surrounding Hwanwoong was probably just a trick to deceive him into liking his captor.

“Well I’m faring terribly, thanks.” Hwanwoong said.

Ravn sighed.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do for you? Are you hungry?”

“No,” Hwanwoong snapped. “And even if I was hungry, I wouldn’t eat anything you gave me. You’re probably trying to poison me.”

Ravn smiled darkly, and Hwanwoong gulped. Perhaps he shouldn’t have said that.

“Oh trust me, if I were going to poison you, I already would have.” Ravn began to walk around the foot of the bed. Hwanwoong’s blood ran cold.

“What are you doing?” Hwanwoong tried to keep his voice calm. “Don’t-don’t come near me!”

He didn’t want to show that he was scared of Ravn, hell, he didn’t even want to admit to himself that he was scared of Ravn, but he was absolutely defenseless right now. He was entirely at the mercy of his enemy, and he didn’t trust Ravn to treat him kindly.

Ravn didn’t answer as he approached Hwanwoong, placing a knee on the edge of the bed. He leaned over it, drawing closer to Hwanwoong, who did his best to shrink away from the other man. He stared down at where Ravn’s knee made contact with the bed, as if he could somehow will it to slip off.

“My dearest hero,” Ravn called softly. “Would you please look at me?”

Hwanwoong shook his head in refusal. There was a sigh from Ravn, and then a hand grasped Hwanwoong’s chin, forcing him up to look up at his enemy. Ravn was silent for a moment, studying him closely. Hwanwoong had to remind himself to breathe. What the fuck was Ravn doing?

“You look so young,” Ravn finally said, his voice quiet. “How old are you?”

Hwanwoong didn’t answer. Why did Ravn want to know? He didn’t want to tell the man anything about himself.

“Tell me, I promise there’s nothing I gain from knowing your age.”

“Sounds suspicious to me.” Hwanwoong said tersely. He stared harder at Ravn, and upon noticing just how close they were, tried to ignore the fact that his face was heating up. What was with Ravn and making eye contact anyway? Why did he have to go and hold Hwanwoong’s face for the second time in… one day? Maybe? Hwanwoong suddenly realized he had no idea how long he’d been unconscious for.

“Fine. I hope I’m wrong, but you’re probably still a teenager, right? The Premier really sent a teenager to fight me as his latest hero.”

“I’m not a teenager,” Hwanwoong said before he could stop himself. “I’m twenty-two.”

Shock spread across Ravn’s face. Internally, Hwanwoong facepalmed. He shouldn’t have told Ravn his age, but he’d been so irritated by the assumption that he was still a kid that he’d momentarily forgotten his resolve. Great. Ravn finally let go of his chin, backing up off of the bed and standing up straight. He grinned sheepishly.

“Well… that’s actually kind of reassuring. You’re only a couple years younger than me, then. My apologies, you’re just so-”

“Yes, I know I’m short, okay?” Hwanwoong cut the man off. “You’re not the first person to assume I’m younger than I am.”

Ravn blinked, looking somewhat embarrassed. Hwanwoong smirked. It had taken surprisingly little to throw Ravn off. But within a moment, as if nothing had happened, Ravn was back to his usual unruffled persona.

“So then, hero, since I’ve got you talking about yourself, what should I call you?” He asked. You never told me your name.”

“I’m not going to tell you that.” Hwanwoong shook his head for emphasis.

“And why not?” Ravn’s brows furrowed. “Faeries aren’t real, you know. I won't gain the ability to control you or something if you tell me.”

“Y’know, Ravn, when you say things like that it doesn’t make me trust you any more.”

Ravn chuckled.

“In that case, I suppose I should stop. I’m just trying to assure you that I have no bad intentions.”

“I have no reason to believe that you aren’t lying,” Hwanwoong said. “I’m not telling you anything else about me.”

All this talking was starting to make his headache worse. Hwanwoong closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with his right hand, trying to alleviate the pain.

“Are you alright?” Ravn asked. He sounded… concerned. However, Hwanwoong knew he wasn’t. He couldn’t be. He was evil.

“I’m fine.” Hwanwoong said brusquely.

“If you say so,” Ravn didn’t sound convinced. “Well, I’ll leave you alone to rest now, but I’d like you to join me for dinner tonight. I’m sure the effects of the sedative will have worn off by then. Perhaps we can continue getting to know each other better.”

Hwanwoong opened his eyes to glare up at Ravn.

“Like hell I’d share a meal with you.” He snarled. Ravn didn’t seem surprised at all by his response.

“At least consider it, please.” He murmured before turning and exiting the room.

There was no way Hwanwoong was going to dinner with him.

~ ~ ~

When Hwanwoong sat down to dinner, Ravn was already there, although he hadn’t yet touched his food.

“I see you decided to join me.” Ravn said, a smug smile on his lips.

“As if I had a choice,” Hwanwoong retorted, glancing disdainfully down at the plate of food in front of him. He really did not want to eat that. “Your henchmen forced me to.”

Ravn’s brows furrowed.

“They better not have. I told them not to make you come if you said you didn't want to.”

Hwanwoong paused. Of course. He should’ve expected this kind of trickery from a villain such as Ravn.

“Well, I didn’t _say_ that I didn’t want to. I thought it was clear from my lack of enthusiasm.”

“I do apologize, but my henchmen aren’t mind readers, you know.” Ravn chuckled.

“They were telling me to get ready. They kept nagging me and nagging me because I was taking so long. Why wouldn’t…” Hwanwoong was starting to realize how stupid he sounded. Maybe this wasn’t trickery, and rather just his own fault… But actually, no. No, no it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t think like that. Ravn had tricked him, and that was that.

“No matter, you’re here now,” Ravn’s eyes lit up. “We have much to discuss.”

“What do you mean?” Hwanwoong asked, shifting in his seat. The cast on his left arm kept it bent at the elbow, and it was rather heavy. God, he hated it so much.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Ravn started, ignoring Hwanwoong’s question. “I meant to give you this.”

He pulled a cloth from the pocket of his jacket, and stood, walking to Hwanwoong’s side of the table.

“What?”

“It’s for your arm. It must be tiring to hold it up all the time when it’s bent like that, so this will let you rest it. I’m sorry I don’t have anything better, but we’re running low on medical supplies right now.”

“Oh.” Hwanwoong was not a fan of how close Ravn was standing to him.

“Here, um, let me help you with it.” Ravn unfolded the cloth, moving to stand behind Hwanwoong’s chair. Hwanwoong tensed. He was ninety percent sure that this was it, Ravn was going to kill him—and by choking him to death with what was basically just a glorified handkerchief, of all methods. But to his relief and surprise, that didn’t happen. Instead, Ravn’s arms came down over his shoulders and chest, sliding the cloth under his left arm. Hwanwoong’s face suddenly felt hot, and he cringed at the realization. Why in the world-

“Did I hurt you?” Ravn’s voice sounded in his ear, and he jumped. His enemy was so close to him. So, so close. He shook his head slightly, clearing his throat. At this point he was more concerned about why he was flustered by the contact than any potential danger he was in.

Ravn drew his arms up, and tied the ends of the cloth behind Hwanwoong’s neck.

“There,” he said. “That should make you a little more comfortable.”

He walked back to his seat. Hwanwoong didn’t have it in him to speak at all, let alone to say even a single word of gratitude to his enemy. He had to admit, the cloth did help. He was still uncomfortable, but much less than before. He stared down at the dark wood of the table before him, not wanting to do so much as meet Ravn’s gaze.

“W-what did you mean before, we have much to discuss?” Hwanwoong choked out, desperate to distract himself from whatever had just happened.

“Ah, right,” Ravn leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and speaking in a low voice. “I figured since you didn’t want to tell me about yourself, I’d try gaining your trust by telling you about myself."

He paused, suddenly appearing hesitant. When he spoke again, there was a note of urgency in his voice as he said, 

"But more importantly, I need to tell you the truth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support I've received so far! I will be trying my best to update this regularly. I hope you enjoyed this!


	3. The Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this should be pretty clear but just in case it isn't (please let me know if it isn't), ~ ~ ~ denotes a scene change/passing of time, and * * * * * denotes a POV change (don't worry, I don't plan to change POV much in this fic, only when necessary)

“The truth?” Hwanwoong echoed.

Ravn nodded.

“But first things first, my dearest hero, I still don’t know your name. If you won’t tell me, then what am I supposed to call you?”

Hwanwoong shrugged. Quite frankly, he didn’t care what Ravn called him. As long as Ravn didn’t know his name, anything was fine.

“Really? No suggestions?” Ravn raised an eyebrow. “Guess I’ll just have to come up with something myself, then.” He studied Hwanwoong thoughtfully.

“Don’t hurt yourself thinking about it.” Hwanwoong scoffed. Ravn didn’t react.

“Dearest,” He finally said, looking satisfied. “You are my one, my only, and therefore my dearest guest, so I’ll call you dearest.”

Ew. Hwanwoong may have thought before that he didn’t care what Ravn called him, but he hadn’t expected Ravn to pick something as affectionate as “dearest.” He supposed it had been chosen ironically, considering that they were enemies, but he still wanted to gag when Ravn said it. Whatever, there were more important things for Hwanwoong to be concerned about. What exactly was this “truth” that Ravn needed to tell him?

“Okay, so what were you talking about before? What do you need to tell me?”

“Well, I had wanted to tell you a bit about me first, but you don’t seem to be concerned with that,” Ravn huffed. “But I suppose my story and the truth are a bit of the same thing, in some ways.”

Hwanwoong rolled his eyes at that.

“How so?”

“Well if you’ll listen to me, all will be explained. You won’t like what I’m about to tell you though, so be warned—”

“Then why are you even bothering?” Hwanwoong cut him off. “You know I won’t believe you. Almost every word out of your mouth is a lie.”

“I do wish you wouldn’t think that of me.” Ravn sounded tired.

“Ravn, I know what kind of person you are. I know you lie. I know you cheat and trick innocent people. I know you kill as if it’s nothing, and have no regard for anyone besides yourself. Why are you trying to convince me otherwise?”

“That’s a bit hurtful now, isn’t it?” Ravn let out a dry laugh, his expression darkening. “Like I said when we first met, dearest, you know nothing about me. You’re making all these claims based on nothing but propaganda the Premier’s hero training camps have drilled into your head.”

“That’s not true, the government has so much information on you. We know your whole life story, we know almost everything about you. I read through all the files, twice!” Hwanwoong wouldn’t let Ravn sway him.

“Oh my…” Ravn looked down at his plate for a moment, saying nothing. When he turned his gaze back to Hwanwoong he said, “You might think you know all about me because you’ve read some files with the name 'Ravn' on them, but unfortunately they’re all fake. Who do you think collected that information? How would they have relayed it back to the government? I bet the files told you that I’m old. Do I look old to you? They’re completely made up, inaccurate at best.”

At Ravn bringing up his age, Hwanwoong faltered. He had a point there, actually. Ravn couldn’t be out of his twenties, and yet the files had estimated him to be somewhere in his forties or fifties. But what did that matter? One mistake didn’t necessarily mean that the entire rest of the information was incorrect. At least, that’s what Hwanwoong told himself. He had to remain strong in his beliefs.

“What do you want me to say?” Hwanwoong asked. “You can tell me whatever you want, but I won’t believe you. I never will.”

Ravn sighed.

“I really hoped that you’d believe me, but that was stupid on my part,” He stood up abruptly. “There’s not much of a point in telling you anything. If you ever want to know, however, feel free to ask. I’ll take my leave now.”

With that, Ravn turned his back on Hwanwoong and began walking for the dining room door. Hwanwoong eyed Ravn’s plate, untouched and forgotten.

“You’re not going to eat?” He called after his departing enemy.

“I find that my appetite has disappeared,” Ravn answered without even a glance back. “Feel free to help yourself to it, if you’d like.”

The heavy oak door of the dining room closed with a soft thud, and Hwanwoong was left alone. He wrinkled his nose as he took another look at his own dinner. It wasn’t that it looked bad; the meat seemed well cooked and vegetables on the side looked just fine, but he didn’t trust it to not be laced with something. Ravn not eating his own dinner only made Hwanwoong more suspicious. He wasn’t going to be eating either of their meals tonight.

Hwanwoong turned his gaze back to the door. Ravn had seemed kind of… upset. As if he was somehow capable of feeling so. Hwanwoong almost felt bad, for he’d likely caused it, but he quickly reminded himself that Ravn was evil. Ravn was rotten to the core, and he was only acting. He was trying to deceive Hwanwoong, like he had surely done to other heroes before.

...Right?

~ ~ ~

The hallways of Ravn’s home—or wherever it was he’d brought Hwanwoong—were always dim, the torches lighting them few and far between. It was a bit intimidating at first, but after a few days Hwanwoong had started to adjust. So as he walked along in the half-light of the hallway, exploring his surroundings, he didn’t feel very worried at all until he heard hushed voices ahead of him, just around the corner. His heart began to race. Who was there? He knew that many of Ravn’s henchmen lived there, so maybe it was some of them? But why were they speaking so quietly? He had to find out. He crept closer, barely breathing for fear of being heard.

“...we can’t go against him.” A female voice was saying.

“That’s true, but if we don’t we’ll have to face Ravn’s wrath,” A male voice responded. “Do you really want to deal with that?”

“Of course not. But objectively, anything he’d do to us probably wouldn’t be as bad as what the Premier would.”

The Premier? Why were they talking about the Premier? Were they planning to fight him? Hwanwoong unconsciously leaned closer.

“I don’t know… but then again, Ravn is definitely the more rational one. It’s so unfair that they’re putting us in this kind of a situation, though. Whatever we do, we’re screwed.” The male voice grumbled.

A familiar voice sounded from behind Hwanwoong.

“Dearest?”

He jumped and whipped around, startled. Ravn was standing before him, an inquiring look on his face.

“R-ravn.” Hwanwoong stuttered, completely caught off guard.

“What are you doing?” Ravn asked.

“Nothing!” Hwanwoong said a little too quickly. “N-nothing really, I’m just... uh, I’ve been exploring a little.”

Ravn nodded, but he didn’t look convinced.

“I didn’t realize you’d taken to wandering my hallways,” He remarked. “Find anything interesting? You seemed very invested in something just now, wouldn’t you say?”

“Um, no, not really. Nothing interesting.” Hwanwoong laughed nervously as he finished speaking.

“So then what were you doing?”

Hwanwoong felt cornered. He couldn’t tell Ravn he’d been eavesdropping on his henchmen, but what could he say that Ravn wouldn’t immediately see through?

“I was... I was resting,” Hwanwoong said, hoping he sounded convincing. “I’ve been walking around since this morning, my legs were pretty tired.”

He couldn’t read Ravn’s expression, so he nervously added,

“And you know, I’m still kind of feeling the effects of that sedative your henchmen gave me the other day because it was a lot and I’m pretty small and I’ve never been drugged before a—”

Ravn held up a hand, and Hwanwoong immediately shut up. He was such an idiot, why did he start rambling like that? There was no way Ravn would believe him.

“I really do apologize about the sedative, dearest. Truly, I do. My henchmen are sometimes a bit… overzealous with that kind of thing. But if you’re still not feeling quite well from it, I must ask that you rest until you’re feeling better. I can’t have my guest overexerting himself, now can I? What would that say about my skill as a host?” Ravn sounded concerned, and Hwanwoong told himself that it was entirely a sham. However, he was glad that Ravn had seemed to accept his answer. The only problem was that now he probably had to go back to his room, and stay there.

“Yeah,” Hwanwoong shrugged sheepishly. “I guess I’ll go rest, then.”

“Good,” Ravn said, smiling. “I’ll escort you back to your room, just in case you need any assistance.”

Assistance with _what_? Internally, Hwanwoong groaned. He’d really done it this time. Now he had to spend more time with Ravn, and that was the absolute last thing he’d wanted. But outwardly, he didn’t show any of his displeasure—at least, he hoped not. He simply nodded and began walking back to his room, hurrying a little so that maybe he could leave Ravn behind.

But Ravn fell into step beside him, his normal pace easily matching Hwanwoong’s quicker one thanks to his much longer legs. Upon noticing this, Hwanwoong found it incredibly hard to hide his unhappiness.

Soon enough, though, they were at Hwanwoong’s room, and he was leaving Ravn behind at the door. He didn’t bother to look behind him as it closed, instead flopping down on his bed. He hated it here so much. But, he conceded, at least his room was nice, and at least he was now free of Ravn’s presence.

* * * * *

Outside of the room, Ravn leaned back against the big oak doors, sighing. He knew the hero had been lying to him, but he had no idea what he’d been trying to hide. Ravn rubbed his temples. It didn’t matter, hopefully. In the meantime, at least the hero had given him an excuse to keep him in his room. With everything going on currently, it was much safer for him to not be exploring Ravn’s home. He was injured, and he was so petite… and not to mention, they never trained those kids properly at the hero training camps, so it was likely this one wouldn’t stand a chance even if he hadn't been injured.

He faced the door, silently sliding a key into the lock. He turned it, hoping that somehow the room’s occupant wouldn’t hear the doors locking shut. But even if the hero heard and protested, Ravn wouldn’t have unlocked his doors. This was for his own safety, after all. Ravn had never had a hero make it this far, and he wasn’t going to let this one die on him any time soon, if he could help it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed :)   
> Also did everyone see the teaser for Devil?? I'm so so excited, I know it's going to be soooooo good!


	4. First Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, sorry for the delay on this chapter, I suddenly had a lot going on and didn't really have time. The next chapter will be out much sooner though! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy! :)

His doors were locked. Hwanwoong cursed Ravn’s name, leaning back against them in exhaustion. He’d been trying to kick them open for the past half hour, but obviously, it hadn’t worked. A dry laugh escaped his lips. At least Ravn had started to show his true colors. It was almost infuriating how he was always pretending he had no ill-intent towards Hwanwoong; now he’d finally gone and done something that contradicted his words.

“Hey, Ravn!” Hwanwoong shouted triumphantly, though he doubted that Ravn was anywhere nearby. “Actions speak louder than words, idiot. You’ve finally shown me how you really feel about me.”

Of course the very moment Hwanwoong seemed even vaguely dangerous, Ravn had locked him away. And it wasn’t like Hwanwoong posed much of a threat right now, all he’d done was eavesdrop on Ravn’s henchmen.

He looked around his room. It might’ve been the nicest room he’d ever had, but it was still a prison. He slid down until he was sitting on the floor, the cold marble sending a chill throughout his body. He had to get out of here—not just his room, but Ravn’s base in general. But how? He couldn’t jump out his window, his room was too high up for him to have a good chance of surviving that fall, and even if he miraculously did, he’d probably be too injured from the landing to get away.

As he thought more about it, Hwanwoong also realized that even if he could find a way to escape, he had no idea how to get home. He didn’t know where Ravn had taken him, and wherever he’d been imprisoned was definitely well outside of his country's borders. From his windows, Hwanwoong could see trees thickly lining the border of Ravn’s property. Most likely, Ravn’s home was somewhere in the Great Forest. Which—if that was the case—was a major problem. The Great Forest stretched on for hundreds of miles, and Hwanwoong could be anywhere within it. While some people knew how to navigate the forest, not many did, Hwanwoong included. And it was dangerous, at least from what he’d heard. When he was in training, his instructors had told stories of the Premier’s younger days, when he'd gone on many adventures in the Great Forest. From those stories alone, any desire Hwanwoong had ever had to explore the Great Forest for himself had been completely destroyed.

And now here he was. Probably imprisoned somewhere the middle of the damned thing. It certainly didn’t seem like he was going to escape any time soon, if ever.

Fuck.

~ ~ ~

Hwanwoong was going to die of boredom, probably, before Ravn actually got around to killing him. Though it hadn't been long, time had blurred together and he was already struggling to keep track of the days as they passed by. Currently on what he guessed was his fourth day of being locked inside his room, Hwanwoong felt about ready to lose his mind. Three times a day, his doors were unlocked for a few seconds, during which a tray of food was slipped into his room. They were locked as soon as they closed again, and though Hwanwoong had tried to escape many times, Ravn had always prevented him from getting outside. That was something Hwanwoong found really odd about this whole deal—Ravn was the only person bringing him meals, when he could easily have had one of his henchmen do it instead. At first, Hwanwoong hadn’t eaten anything, thinking that the food was poisoned, but by the end of the second day he’d gotten too hungry to resist. So now he limited himself to one meal a day, figuring that the likeliness of eating poisoned food went down that way. Of course, at this point there was no real reasoning backing his thoughts, but it made him feel better nonetheless.

Hwanwoong sighed, looking out of his window. It was dark out now, and he couldn’t see much of the outside world, save for the few spots on Ravn’s property which were lit by torches—mostly places along the high brick walls separating it from the Great Forest.

The sound of his doors unlocking caught his attention, and Hwanwoong sprung up from where he’d been lying on his bed. He hurried over with absolutely no plan in mind, he just wanted to catch a glimpse of the hallway outside. Any kind of change of scenery was welcome at this point.

“Dearest, please,” Ravn’s voice drifted through the now-growing opening between the doors, startling him. “You know the drill. Don’t even try.”

Hwanwoong frowned.

“I don’t get it. What’s the point of this? Just kill me already, I know that’s what you’re planning anyway. Why do I need to wait?”

The door opened a little further. There was a sigh, and Ravn’s head poked through the opening. He looked at the still-full tray of food on the floor, then looked pointedly at Hwanwoong.

“You can’t sustain yourself on one meal a day, y’know. What would be the point in giving you poisoned food? Really, just trust me for once, okay?”

Hwanwoong shook his head.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m not going to kill you. All will be explained later. Does that satisfy you, dearest?” Ravn looked kind of tired, now that Hwanwoong was looking at him closely. Whatever, it didn’t concern him in the slightest.

“Stop calling me dearest.” Hwanwoong said, irritated by the pet name.

“Then tell me your name, _dearest_.” Ravn responded coolly.

Hwanwoong rolled his eyes. As if he’d do that. He’d endure Ravn’s stupid pet name if it meant the villain continued to know almost nothing about him.

“Just give me the food and get out.” Hwanwoong turned around and started walking back to his bed. He was done talking to Ravn.

“As you wish.”

There was the sound of metal sliding against marble, and moments later the sound of the doors shutting once again. Hwanwoong heard the key turn in the lock and sighed.

Did Ravn really not plan on killing him? If that was true, then just what did he have in mind? Surely he wouldn’t just keep Hwanwoong captive forever, would he?

He didn’t want to think about it anymore. He flopped back onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Just as he had probably hundreds of times before, he traced the lines of the chandelier with his eyes. He was so _bored_.

Before he could even realize it, he’d fallen asleep.

~ ~ ~

The sound of his doors creaking open woke him. Hwanwoong’s eyes snapped open, and he propped himself up on his slightly-less-broken arm. He’d already received all of his meals for the day, so why…?

He looked to the doors. They were swinging shut now, and before them stood one of Ravn’s henchmen, dressed in their black cloak as if they were going outside. Hwanwoong cocked his head to the side. What was going on? Part of him hoped that a henchman was rebelling against Ravn, and was going to free him, but that seemed too good to be true.

The henchman approached him, reaching inside their cloak. As they began to pull their hand out, Hwanwoong caught the glimmer of a blade.

Well. That wasn’t good.

The henchman fully drew a dagger from the folds of their cloak, and Hwanwoong scrambled off of his bed. So he was going to die after all. He almost felt angry that this was the way he would go. Ravn really didn’t respect him enough to kill him himself, apparently. Downright rude. The henchman removed their hood, allowing Hwanwoong to clearly see their face. They were a middle-aged man, relatively normal looking with the exception of a jagged scar that ran from his right cheek to his neck. Hwanwoong unconsciously took a step back.

There had to be some way for him to get out of this, right?

Hwanwoong glanced around nervously. The henchman was too close for comfort now, almost within striking range. He was staring at Hwanwoong with a determined light in his eyes, and it made Hwanwoong’s skin crawl with uneasiness. There was probably no use in trying to reason or persuade this man into sparing him.

The scarred man lashed out, and Hwanwoong stumbled backwards, barely avoiding the blow. He was cornered. There was no way he could get around the man, and while he still had space behind him, there wasn’t much. He was going to die. This was how it was going to end.

Instead of striking again, the man reached with his free hand towards Hwanwoong, who tried to back away once again. But in his haste he tripped over his own feet, and he fell backwards, breaking the fall with his right hand. Fiery pain shot through his arm, and he grit his teeth. At least if he died he didn’t have to deal with the fact that he might’ve re-broken his arm.

The henchman was upon him now. He grabbed Hwanwoong’s left arm sharply, wrenching it up out of the cloth he’d gotten from Ravn. Hwanwoong let out a cry of pain, overwhelmed by the agony now blazing through both sides of his body. The henchman raised his dagger, and Hwanwoong closed his eyes. This was it. The end. And he hadn’t even been able to fight, he noted regretfully.

A loud slam resounded through Hwanwoong's room, coming from the direction of the entrance. He opened his eyes, blinking once in confusion. The henchman had frozen above him, still holding up the dagger. He was looking towards the doors. Hwanwoong followed his gaze and saw Ravn striding towards them, furious.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?”

Why was Ravn here?

“I’m sorry Master Ravn, but you know I have to.” The henchman said.

What? So… this wasn’t Ravn’s doing? Hwanwoong looked from the Ravn to henchman, then back to Ravn, surprised.

“Joohyung, you don’t have to do anything. I swear, if you—”

The henchman turned his attention back to Hwanwoong, ignoring Ravn's words. The dagger glinted dangerously in his hand. Then it was plunging downward, and for Hwanwoong, time seemed to slow down as he watched it descend. But it never reached him.

Ravn was pulling the scarred henchman away, grabbing at the dagger, but the henchman didn’t let go. Hwanwoong remained frozen on the floor as he watched them struggle, mouth agape. Ravn was trying to save him? This couldn’t be right. Maybe the pain was making him hallucinate.

Hwanwoong’s breath caught in his throat as the henchman freed himself from Ravn’s grip, marching back towards Hwanwoong. The man grabbed him again by the left arm, dragging him forward, and Hwanwoong almost fainted from the pain.

Where was Ravn?

Hwanwoong fell to the ground, hard, as the henchman released him without warning. Peering up, he saw Ravn standing behind his assailant, holding a sword. Hwanwoong vaguely wondered where Ravn had gotten a sword from, but his mind was too foggy from the pain in his arms for him to really question it.

There was shouting, and a flash of metal, none of which Hwanwoong could really process as fast as it happened. The henchman fell to the ground in front of Hwanwoong. Ravn’s sword was bloody, and he was pale. Upon seeing blood, Hwanwoong immediately snapped out of his dazed state, forgetting the burning agony in his arms. He scrambled back, away from Ravn and the henchman’s corpse.

Ravn was staring at the henchman, eyes wide. Hwanwoong’s stomach turned. Ravn had just killed one of his own men. What kind of sick, evil—

The sword Ravn had been holding clattered to the floor, and he fell to his knees. He was definitely trying to speak, his lips were moving rapidly, but no sound came out. He reached out to the body of his henchman, fingers hovering over it as if he were afraid to touch. He pulled his hand back to cover his mouth, then clapped his other hand over it as well. Hwanwoong could see his chest heaving. Was he… crying? Or about to start crying? Hwanwoong, as much as he despised Ravn, wasn’t actually sure he wanted to see that.

“R-ravn.” He broke the heavy silence in the room. Ravn looked up, meeting Hwanwoong’s eyes. He had to look away. He couldn’t see Ravn like that. It just felt wrong.

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean to,” Ravn choked. “I didn’t mean to. He was going to—”

“I know.” Hwanwoong said.

“God, what do I tell his family?”

“His family?” Hwanwoong wasn’t expecting that. Now that he thought about it, it hadn’t even occurred to him that Ravn’s henchmen had lives outside of serving Ravn. A weight formed in his stomach as he suddenly thought of the henchmen he’d fought on his way to defeat Ravn. He’d killed some of them, hadn’t he? He pushed the thought away. He didn’t want to think about that. This wasn’t the time anyway. Ravn had just killed someone, and it was worse than what Hwanwoong might’ve done, since Ravn had killed someone on his own side.

“Joohyung has, er, I guess, had a wife and a son… and now,” Ravn’s voice cracked. “And now…”

“Well, that’s unfortunate. Look at what you’ve done.” Hwanwoong said. It was cold, but he couldn’t deal with this right now. Not with seeing Ravn in his current state, not with the fact that he’d almost been murdered, not with any of it.

“I-How can you say that?” Hwanwoong was staring at the floor, but he could feel Ravn glaring at him. “You, of all people? As if you haven't killed before.”

Hwanwoong didn’t answer. How could he? Guilt formed heavy in his stomach. Ravn had a point, but he didn't want to acknowledge it.

He heard Ravn’s clothes shift. He must’ve been standing. There was a soft grunt, and then the sound of footsteps. Hwanwoong looked up. Ravn had picked up his henchman’s corpse and was walking towards the doors.

He watched until Ravn had left the room, glued to where he sat on the floor. Even when Ravn was long gone, and he didn’t hear the sound of the doors locking, Hwanwoong didn’t move. He couldn’t bring himself to. He was so tired, and he was still struggling to process everything that had just happened. Why did Ravn save him? His mind was reeling. He had so many questions, and he didn't even want to address the fact that he was responsible for the deaths of several people, something he hadn't thought about until Ravn mentioned it earlier.

Even when the first rays of sunlight came through the window, illuminating the blood on the floor before him, Hwanwoong remained sitting on the floor, unmoving.


	5. A Curious Discovery

Hwanwoong hadn’t seen anyone in hours. The pain in his arms had faded to a dull ache at this point, but there was definitely something wrong with them. Since his room was left unlocked, he’d managed to get his doors open despite his injured arms, and had been wandering the building since then. But nobody was around. It was almost nightfall now, and he hadn’t even seen a single henchmen, even though the place was usually crawling with them. He hadn’t seen Ravn either, of course, but the lack of henchmen was more unsettling to him than his enemy’s absence.

His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since he left his room. Perhaps he should go back, there was food in his room. Though on second thought, maybe he shouldn’t—it’d probably been long enough that the food Ravn brought him had gone bad. His footsteps echoed in the empty hallway, and Hwanwoong wondered if he’d been abandoned. If, somehow, in the short period of time between Ravn leaving the room and his own departure from it, everyone had just packed up and left. He was sure it wasn’t possible, but it was so strange that he hadn’t seen anyone.

A figure appeared at the end of the hallway, drawing Hwanwoong’s attention.

“Dearest.” The person called. Ravn.

“Ravn, where is everyone? Where have you been?” Hwanwoong asked. He bit his lip. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked that. He didn’t want Ravn to get the impression that he actually cared about the fact that he hadn’t seen anyone.

“That’s… well. I’ll explain later if you’d like,” Ravn stepped closer to Hwanwoong. “First things first, though, are you alright? I apologize for leaving you on your own, I swear I’m not usually such a poor host.”

Hwanwoong shook his head.

“I’m hungry,” He said. “And my arms hurt.” As much as he hated it, he needed Ravn’s assistance right now. Even if this was a trap, and Ravn was going to kill him instead of help him. Not to mention that somehow, that possibility didn’t seem likely right now.

“I see. Here, come with me.” Ravn beckoned to Hwanwoong. He followed his enemy as he led him down the hallway and into a room that he’d never noticed before. It was a bedroom, but much unlike his own, it was small and plain, and a bit disorganized. Ravn motioned to the bed, and Hwanwoong sat down on it. To his surprise, it was just as soft as his own.

“Is this one of your henchmen’s rooms?”

“Nope. It’s mine.” Ravn turned his back to Hwanwoong as he opened a chest sitting against his wall. Hwanwoong’s eyes widened. This was Ravn’s room? But it was so… different from what he’d been expecting. He’d thought surely Ravn would have the nicest room in the house, but instead he was living in a room even smaller than the one Hwanwoong had shared with two other hero trainees towards the end of his training days. Ravn shuffled through the contents of the chest, and Hwanwoong watched him absentmindedly, wondering just what kind of person Ravn was. Not that he really cared. It wasn’t that deep—at the end of the day, Ravn was still evil above anything else. But maybe there was something else to his personality, Hwanwoong thought, even though it still wouldn’t make him redeemable in his eyes.

Ravn turned around, holding a bottle.

“What’s that?” Hwanwoong eyed it warily. Ravn uncorked it and shook out a pill. He held it out to Hwanwoong.

“Take it. It’ll stop the pain.”

At this point, Hwanwoong didn’t even bother to ask if it was poison. If he was going to die, so be it. He took the pill from Ravn and swallowed it, frowning at the bitter taste it left in his mouth.

“I’ll get you something to eat in a minute,” Ravn said. “But do you want me to send for an apothecary? That henchman might have done some real damage.”

“Sure,” Hwanwoong could barely bring himself to say it, but he had to. “Thanks.”

Ravn nodded, putting the bottle of pills back in his chest and heading for the door.

“I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t go anywhere.” And with that, he exited the room, leaving Hwanwoong alone.

Alone.

He was alone. In the bedroom of his enemy. This could be a golden opportunity, Hwanwoong realized. He glanced around the room, taking another look. Honestly, it didn’t look like there was much Ravn kept in his room, but appearances weren’t everything. There had to be some kind of secret information, useful or not, that Hwanwoong could gain from this. He stood, walking over to the chest that Ravn had been looking through before. There would probably be something interesting in it, right? Hwanwoong opened the chest, carefully leaning the lid against the wall so as to not make any noise.

The chest was incredibly disorganized, Hwanwoong noticed with disdain. He reached inside, beginning to sift through. The pill bottle was at the top, since Ravn had just put it back into the chest. It was on top of a slim wooden case, and when Hwanwoong it, he found a dagger. Could it have been the one the scarred henchman had tried to use against Hwanwoong the other day? He closed the case, moving it aside. There were cloaks haphazardly thrown into the chest, and Hwanwoong scrunched up his nose at the sight. Didn’t Ravn know they’d get wrinkled like that? What was wrong with him, keeping them unfolded inside a chest? He took them out one by one, vowing to fold them if he had enough time before Ravn came back. They could still be saved, despite Ravn’s careless treatment. The rest of the chest underneath the cloaks seemed to just be useless junk: a few other bottles of pills, an empty liquor bottle, a few old books in languages Hwanwoong couldn’t read. But at the very bottom, he found something very interesting. A small portrait, in fading paint, of what looked to be the Premier and his family. Why would Ravn have that? And then, as he looked closer, Hwanwoong noticed that the boy standing to the left of the Premier—his eldest son and the heir to his role as Premier—looked very familiar. Too familiar, as if Hwanwoong had just seen him. But… that couldn’t be possible, could it? After all, the Premier’s eldest son was _dead_. Or at least, he was supposed to be.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway outside. Hwanwoong jumped, hurriedly putting the portrait back into the chest and piling everything else he’d taken out on top of it. The footsteps were too close. He was going to be caught. He looked at the cloaks beside him. Well, he did tell himself that he was going to fold them.

When Ravn came through the door, holding a tray of food, Hwanwoong was sitting on the floor in front of the chest, folding his cloaks.

“What are you doing?” Ravn asked. Hwanwoong tried not to flinch. How was he supposed to talk to Ravn now, after what he found? But he needed to come up with something to say, and fast.

“I, uh, I wanted another pill because my arms were still hurting, and then I saw your cloaks and they were just thrown in there… you can’t leave them like that, you know. You hang them up in a closet, or at the very least fold them if you have to keep them in a chest. Otherwise they’ll get wrinkled.” Hwanwoong kept his eyes trained on the cloak in his hand. He couldn’t look at Ravn.

“Why do you care about what I do with my cloaks?”

He could hear the suspicion in Ravn’s voice.

“I-I don’t!” Hwanwoong answered. “I just hate sloppy things like that.”

“Okay then. Well, I brought you something to eat.” Ravn didn’t sound convinced, but as long as he didn’t press any further, Hwanwoong didn’t care. “Wait. Did you say you took a second pill?”

“Um—”

“Dearest, that’s entirely too much for you. Those are strong, and you’re too small for that high of a dosage.” Ravn sounded worried. But surely he wasn’t actually, right?

“No, I wanted one but I didn’t take it because I got distracted by the cloaks.” Hwanwoong said. The last thing he needed was a lie he made up to save himself getting him in even more trouble.

“Oh, thank goodness. You would’ve been in for a very unpleasant day if you had,” Ravn walked behind Hwanwoong, towards the bed. “Now, come eat. I’ll fold my cloaks if it really bothers you so much.”

Hwanwoong stood, dropping the cloak he was holding and heading for the bed. He kept his eyes glued to the tray of food, absolutely terrified of what would happen if he looked at Ravn. He didn’t want to know what he’d do. He sat down next to the tray, and Ravn turned his back to him, going to the chest. He crouched in front of it, picking up the cloak Hwanwoong had dropped.

As he ate, Hwanwoong snuck tiny glances at the back of Ravn’s head. There was no way he could be the Premier’s son, right? But then why was that portrait in his chest? And why did they look exactly alike? But then again, if that was really Ravn’s true identity, why hadn’t Hwanwoong recognized him sooner? He tried to recall the last time he’d actually seen him, and realized that the only time he’d ever seen what the late heir looked like was in the portraits at his funeral. When his oldest son died, the Premier had declared a week-long mourning period, and it ended with the funeral, which everyone with even a minor rank in the government had to attend. Hwanwoong, being halfway through his training at the time, had gone to it with his head instructor. That was well over three years ago, now. Of course Hwanwoong couldn’t remember what the heir looked like.

Unconsciously, he sighed. Ravn turned around, and he jumped.

“Everything alright over there, dearest?” Ravn raised an eyebrow.

Oh god, Ravn had caught him looking. And even worse, now that he was looking at Ravn, he couldn’t unsee it. Though he looked a bit older, he was nearly the spitting image of the boy in the portrait Hwanwoong had found. He suddenly felt dizzy, his mind reeling with this heavy new information. Ravn was the Premier’s son. There was no doubt about it. But how, and why? Why did he become Ravn? How did he become Ravn? Just what was going on?

“Dearest?” Ravn’s voice sounded far away. Hwanwoong’s mouth felt dry.

“I-I’m just kind of tired, that’s all. I think I’ll lie down.” He placed his now empty food tray to the side. 

“Well don’t—” Ravn started, but Hwanwoong had already laid back on the bed and shut his eyes.

* * * * *

Ravn eyed the hero curiously. What the hell was wrong with this kid? Then again, the hero had certainly had a long couple of days, so he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that he’d suddenly fallen asleep. But what was he going to do with him? Ravn figured he could just let him sleep on his bed, although he really didn’t want to.

He sighed and turned back to his chest. He’d just finished folding all of his cloaks. It was so weird how the hero had wanted him to do that. He picked up a cloak, moving to place it inside the chest. But before he could put it down, he froze. Could he…? No. He wouldn’t have, would he? The hero surely wouldn’t have gone through Ravn’s chest, right? He shook his head. It was a silly, overly-paranoid thought to have. After all, even if he had, Ravn doubted that he’d find anything important. He placed the cloak inside the chest, and then the rest of them. He closed it, then turned back to look at the sleeping hero. Seriously, he couldn’t have fallen asleep anywhere else?

Well, Ravn figured, he’d just have to deal with it. Besides, it shouldn’t take too long for the hero to wake up, right?

* * * * *

Hwanwoong woke up to a dim, flickering light. Torchlight. He sat up. Had he been asleep that long?

“You’re finally awake.” Ravn’s voice sounded beside him. Hwanwoong jumped, looking to his left. Ravn was lounging next to him on the bed, reading a leatherbound book titled in a language Hwanwoong didn’t recognize.

“I-Wh-What are you doing here?” Hwanwoong stammered, flustered. What the hell was going on?

Ravn put down his book, looking at Hwanwoong with an amused expression.

“You fell asleep on my bed. So if you don’t mind, I’m just trying to relax in my own space.” He went back to looking at his book.

“Oh.” Hwanwoong took a moment to recall what had happened earlier in the day. He’d just been so overwhelmed by everything that he’d needed to… recharge. Hell, thinking about it again now made him want to go back to sleep just to avoid it. But, maybe this was actually kind of a good thing. Maybe it meant he could trust Ravn a little more than he did. Or maybe it didn’t.

But Ravn _did_ kill one of his own henchmen just to save Hwanwoong. And he’d seemed so upset about it too; he’d have to be a _really_ good actor if he was faking that. So maybe Hwanwoong could trust him, just a tiny bit. Just with one thing. After all, what could Ravn do with only his first name?

Okay. He’d made up his mind.

“Ravn?” He tried his best to keep his voice steady. Why was he nervous? “My, um… my name is Hwanwoong.”

“Hm?” Ravn looked up at him, interest shining clear in his eyes. “That’s a bit out of the blue, now isn’t it?”

Hwanwoong shrugged, looking away from his enemy.

“Well, I can’t say I’m not pleased to finally learn your name, Hwanwoong.”

He shivered when Ravn said his name. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. But it was too late now, Ravn knew, and there was no changing that. He glanced back up at the man. He was back to reading once more, and Hwanwoong couldn’t help but to wonder what he could be reading that was so damn interesting.

Whatever. It wasn’t like it really bugged him or anything, it was just that Ravn seemed really engrossed in it, and Hwanwoong couldn’t even tell what language the title was in. But it made sense, actually, that Ravn was at least bilingual—in fact, Hwanwoong was almost certain he was actually multilingual—if he was really the son of the Premier. Growing up, he would’ve had access to the best education in the country, and the Premier’s family were all known to be incredibly intelligent and well-learned.

This was starting to make too much sense, and Hwanwoong _hated_ it. Besides, if Ravn was really the heir, why the hell would he be here? He could’ve had everything—already by simply being the heir, he essentially had the world in his palm. Why would he turn against his father? Why would he become _evil_? Or… was he really evil? The more time Hwanwoong spent with him, the less sinister he seemed, at least towards him.

What was he thinking? Hwanwoong couldn’t believe himself. Regardless of Ravn’s background, he was evil. He was the enemy, and that was undeniable. Obviously, if the Premier was willing to send heroes to assassinate his own son, there had to be something seriously wrong with Ravn. And yet… No. No, no, no, he couldn’t think like that. No more doubts. He had to keep his guard up. He didn’t know anything about Ravn for sure, and though he was treating him well now, the villain could turn on him tomorrow. He just didn’t know for sure. The only thing he truly knew was that he couldn’t trust him.

“Hwanwoong, dearest,” Ravn’s smooth voice broke him out of his thoughts. He looked up, startled. “Everything alright? You’re tensing up.”

“How do you… oh,” Hwanwoong hadn’t realized just how close they were until now. Ravn’s bed really wasn’t big at all. “I’m fine. And stop calling me dearest, you know my name now.”

“My apologies,” Ravn said. “Force of habit now, I suppose.”

Hwanwoong sighed.

“I’m going to go back to my room.” He got off of the bed. To his surprise, Ravn didn’t respond. Hwanwoong padded over to the door, looking back once he reached it. Without looking up from his book, Ravn raised a hand in farewell. Hwanwoong rolled his eyes and left without a word, hurrying down the hallway. He fled back to his room, trying to keep his curious thoughts at bay. As he closed the massive oak doors of his own room, relieved to be back in his own space, he only had one question in mind: How could he confirm Ravn’s real identity?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, so sorry for the delay in getting this out, I didn't think it would take so long but I moved back into uni and just had a whole lot going on lol. Hope you enjoyed & thanks for all the support!   
> Also how did everyone like Oneus's comeback?? Ngl I've had the whole album on repeat~


	6. A Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi~ I know I keep saying that the next chapter will be out sooner than it actually comes out, so sorry for that. Hopefully I'll actually get the next one out on time (or even a little early) since I have a couple snow days. Anyway, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

The apothecary arrived the day after Ravn had sent for him, apologizing for the delay and stating that it was hard to get to the manor quickly, given the distance between his home and Ravn’s estate. He introduced himself as Xion, and to Hwanwoong’s surprise, he appeared to be rather young. But he was clearly knowledgeable, because within minutes he’d removed both of Hwanwoong’s casts and settled down to work.

Hwanwoong’s left arm was fine, according to Xion, the healing was going well and nothing had been disturbed in the henchman’s attack. His right arm, however, was a different story. When Xion had removed the cast, they could both see that Hwanwoong’s wrist was swollen. When Xion asked him to move it, he couldn’t, and it hurt when Xion touched it. So now, for some reason, Hwanwoong was waiting for Ravn to come to his room. He wasn’t sure why Xion had sent for him, and he didn’t think he wanted to know.

Just then, the doors swung open, and Ravn strode in.

“Ah, you’re here,” Xion greeted him. “I need your help with this.” He gestured to Hwanwoong.

“What?” Hwanwoong asked, startled. What were they going to do to him?

“I need to reset the bones in your arm,” Xion explained. “It’s not an easy job, so I need Ravn’s help.”

Hwanwoong gulped. He didn’t want Ravn to have anything to do with this, but at the same time, he needed his arm to heal properly.

“It’s okay, dearest, I’ve done this before.” Ravn said as he reached them, stopping in front of where Hwanwoong sat on his bed.

Xion arched an eyebrow curiously at the pet name, but didn’t say anything about it.

“Well, let’s get started then. I’m sorry that I don’t have anything for the initial pain, but I’ll give you something after to help you handle it.”

Hwanwoong nodded. Xion carefully took hold of his arm, stretching it out in front of him. Hwanwoong turned his gaze to the ceiling, coming to the realization that he didn’t want to see this. He’d always been unconscious whenever he’d had broken bones treated in the past, and he was starting to suspect it was better that way.

There was a second set of hands on his arm now. His heart started to race. Why was he nervous? He knew what was about to happen, kind of. The hands took positions on either side of his forearm, and then—

Hwanwoong opened his eyes and saw the chandelier above his bed, glistening as usual. His stomach churned, his head was pounding, and his right arm throbbed. He groaned. Why did he feel so terrible?

“He’s awake.” A voice sounded from somewhere nearby.

Hwanwoong lifted his head, glancing around. Ravn and Xion were standing nearby, watching him. Weren’t they going to set his arm? Hwanwoong looked down and saw that his right arm was in a new cast.

Oh.

“You fainted from the pain as soon as we started, if that’s what you’re wondering about.” Ravn said, his lips turning upward in amusement.

Hwanwoong let his head fall back onto the bed. Well, at least he hadn’t been awake, he supposed. Although the nausea and headache he was currently experiencing were far from ideal, perhaps they were better than having to feel his bones forced back into place.

Whatever, he didn’t care. His arm was fixed, and he was tired. He was going back to sleep. Not even the pain in his arm could keep him awake right now. As he closed his eyes, he heard the sound of doors shutting from far off. Good, he was being left alone, hopefully. Though unfortunately, it wouldn’t last long. He knew for a fact that when he woke up again, Ravn would be there.

~ ~ ~

Never before in his stay at Ravn’s home had Hwanwoong willingly spent so much time with the man. He saw him every day, even if he had no real reason to. Though he hated it, he found that he was actually making up reasons to see Ravn. He just _had_ to figure out if his theory was right, if Ravn really was the Premier’s late son. But he wasn’t sure exactly how, and despite spending so much time with Ravn, he hadn’t found out anything useful. In fact, he hadn’t found out anything at all. Granted, he wasn’t actually _asking_ Ravn anything about himself. Rather, he’d simply been hanging around his enemy, hoping that he’d suddenly start talking about his life, or even give the slightest hint about his background away. Hwanwoong quickly realized that this was a dumb plan—if it could even be called a plan at all—but he was too afraid to employ any other method. Snooping around could easily get him in trouble, and even the thought of directly asking Ravn for information was too intimidating to Hwanwoong.

He glanced up from the book in his hand, peering at Ravn. They were in Ravn’s library, one of the largest rooms in the estate. Ravn had a rather impressive collection of books, and it only served to further convince Hwanwoong that he really was of elite background.

Ravn was sitting nearby, leisurely skimming over a book in yet another language that Hwanwoong couldn’t read. Just how many languages did Ravn understand, exactly? Ravn looked up from his book, meeting Hwanwoong’s gaze. Shit. He didn’t mean to get caught staring.

“Can I help you?” Ravn asked, raising an eyebrow at Hwanwoong questioningly.

“I—um… no,” Hwanwoong fumbled for something to say. “I was just wondering what language that book is in, is all.”

“Balkirian.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a dead language.” Ravn eyes were already turned back on the book in his hands. Hwanwoong had noticed that Ravn didn’t like to talk much when he was reading, but that wasn’t going to stop him from asking questions. This was his chance to find out even a little bit more information about his enemy, and he absolutely had to take it, even if he annoyed Ravn.

“How many languages do you know?” Hwanwoong inquired, putting his own book down on the small table beside his chair.

Ravn looked up at him again, and Hwanwoong could tell he was trying to hide his irritation.

“What do you mean by ‘know?’ Do you mean what I’m fluent in?”

Hwanwoong nodded. Ravn appeared to be thinking. After a moment, he said,

“About seven. I know all six of the common languages and then some. I’d know more, but due to some… unfortunate circumstances my studies were cut short.”

“Wow,” Hwanwoong couldn’t hide his shock. _Seven?_ That was more than he’d expected. A little sheepishly, he had to admit, “I don’t even know what the common languages are.”

“They didn’t teach you that during your training?” Ravn seemed surprised. Hwanwoong shook his head. Ravn made a sound of disapproval. “They really expect you kids to go out into the world all on your own and yet they teach you nothing of it.”

“I’m not a kid—” Hwanwoong began to protest, but Ravn held up a hand, silencing him.

“In the world, there are six languages that are the most widely spoken, they’re known as the common languages. If you know them, you can get around anywhere with almost no problem. You’ve already got an advantage, because everyone from your country, Wonyth, speaks Nitinian. Honestly though, I’m a bit shocked. I would’ve expected you to at least know the common languages exist, even if you weren’t taught the rest of them. I thought heroes’ education was supposed to be decent.”

“It is!” Hwanwoong snapped defensively. “It’s the best you can get, unless you’re part of the Premier family. Sorry for being so uneducated by your standards.”

“Hwanwoong,” Ravn sighed. “I’m not looking down on you or anything, I promise. I’m merely concerned by the shortcomings of the system that was supposed to ready you for essentially anything life threw your way. Do you not agree that it’s alarming how ill-prepared you are?”

“No. All I really need to know how to do is fight. The only purpose of all that training was to defeat you, which I _will_ do. Eventually, anyway.”

Ravn pinched the bridge of his nose, tilting his head back.

“My dearest Hwanwoong, you do realize that’s never going to happen, right? You don’t stand a chance against me. Not to mention, it’d be quite the display of poor manners if you intend to cause me harm after all I’ve done for you.”

“I don’t stand a chance against you? I fought plenty of your henchmen before I got stuck in your stupid trap, and I beat them all. I’ll be fine.”

Ravn laughed, and it sent a chill down Hwanwoong’s spine. The man fixed his gaze back on Hwanwoong, an amused grin splitting his face.

“You can’t be serious. My henchmen are all decent fighters, but they’re nothing compared to me. I could beat you in my sleep.”

“Sure.” Hwanwoong said, gritting his teeth. Ravn’s confidence pissed him off. Who exactly did he think he was? He may secretly come from a powerful family, but there was no way he could be as formidable as he said he was.

“I’ll tell you what,” Ravn set aside the book he’d been holding, leaning forward in his chair. “When your arms heal, we’ll fight. If you can defeat me, you can do whatever you’d like with me. Arrest me and take me back to Wonyth, or even kill me if you feel so inclined. But if I win, I get to train you.”

“You’ll… train me?” Hwanwoong cocked his head to the side, looking at Ravn skeptically. “That’s all you want?”

Ravn nodded.

“It’ll be nothing like your hero training, trust me. I’ll teach you how to really fight, and anything else you want as well. Maybe I’ll even make you strong enough to beat me.”

“Okay, we’re on.” Hwanwoong didn’t see how he could be at a disadvantage here, regardless of how their battle turned out. If Ravn was really as powerful as he claimed, and Hwanwoong lost, he’d get the opportunity to make himself stronger. And if he won, well, he’d get to finally go home, and as a _hero_.

Ravn’s smile widened. He picked his book back up, apparently satisfied with the deal he’d just made. Hwanwoong rolled his eyes. He didn’t care what Ravn’s background was, it didn’t give him the right to be such a cocky bastard.

He was going to beat Ravn if it was the last thing he did.

~ ~ ~

Just as he had been every night for the last couple of weeks, Hwanwoong was having dinner with Ravn tonight. But unlike every other night, when he arrived, neither Ravn nor the food was there yet. Strange. He sat down at the table, deciding to wait until either one turned up. Since the day Ravn had saved him from the henchman, Hwanwoong had eaten every meal he’d been given, figuring that at this point, Ravn wouldn’t bother with poisoning him. After all, why would he have gone through the trouble of saving Hwanwoong at the expense of his henchman’s life just to poison him not long after? A small part of Hwanwoong said that Ravn was sinister enough to pull a stunt like that, but another part of him strongly disagreed. So, he wasn’t quite sure what to think, but he might as well eat in the meantime. Besides, if Hwanwoong really intended to fight Ravn once he was healed, he’d need his strength. That was another thing that had led Hwanwoong to dismiss his suspicion towards the food his enemy served: their upcoming battle. Ravn couldn’t be that much of a coward, right?

The dining room door opened, alerting Hwanwoong to the appearance of Ravn, who was carrying their meals in his hands. He hurried over, setting them down on the table.

“My apologies, dearest,” He said. “There was a sudden urgent matter I had to attend to just as I was finishing our dinner.”

“Wait,” Hwanwoong stared at his enemy in surprise. “You made this?”

“Of course. I’ve made all of your meals since you’ve arrived here.”

Ravn said it so matter-of-factly, as if Hwanwoong shouldn’t have expected anything else.

“I just thought your henchmen…”

“Oh no, I don’t trust them. I’d like to, but unfortunately, for certain reasons beyond my control I cannot.” Ravn sat down across from Hwanwoong.

Interesting. Hwanwoong shrugged, trying to push aside the questions this discovery brought to mind. At least he knew now that Ravn was a good cook. Not that it was something he needed to know, but still. He picked up his fork.

“Wait.”

He looked up at Ravn curiously.

“What?” He asked.

“Don’t eat that yet,” Ravn was frowning. “Let me try it first.”

“What?” Hwanwoong was _hungry_ , he didn’t really know what Ravn was up to, and he didn’t really care.

“I left it alone in the kitchen while I was—just give it to me for a second, okay?” Ravn huffed, holding out a hand.

“Uh, okay.” Trying to hide his annoyance, Hwanwoong handed Ravn his plate.

The man gingerly took a chunk of meat off of Hwanwoong’s plate. He put it in his mouth and chewed carefully, as if he was testing it. Hwanwoong snorted. He looked ridiculous. A few moments passed, and Ravn swallowed.

“So? Can I have my dinner back, please?” Hwanwoong prodded. “I’m hungry, Ravn.”

Ravn opened his mouth as if to speak, but before he could make a sound he doubled over, clutching at his chest.


	7. Poison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got a chapter out in less than a week since the previous one, hehehe >:)  
> I hope you guys enjoy!! Sorry (not really) for the cliffhanger in the last chapter lol  
> Thank you so much for all the nice comments and support <3

“Ravn?” Alarm shot through Hwanwoong. There was no way…

His enemy didn’t answer him. He fell out of his chair, nearly hitting his head on the ground.

“Ravn?” Hwanwoong called again. He stood up, approaching the fallen man. “A-are you okay?”

This had to be a trick or something, right?

“Hwanwoong.” Ravn rasped. Hwanwoong knelt beside his enemy, unsure of what to do. From this close, he could hear that Ravn’s breathing was shallow and ragged.

“Need… help.” Ravn’s body shuddered violently, and Hwanwoong jumped. How could he help? He had no idea what to do in a situation like this.

“What can I do?”

Ravn didn’t respond, curling in on himself as his body shuddered a second time.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Okay. Well, if he’d been poisoned, Xion could probably help him, right? He’d have to send for him, somehow. Hwanwoong glanced around the room—but obviously, since no one else had come rushing to Ravn’s aid—there were no henchmen around.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” He said before standing and running to the door. There had to be someone nearby, right?

But… Why should he bother saving Ravn?

His hand rested on the door handle. Ravn was his enemy, after all. But then again, Ravn had treated him more than well, and had even gone as far as to save his life. It was the least he could do. Besides, what would it say about his character if he let Ravn die like this? Before they could have their duel? He shook his head, making up his mind. If Ravn was going to die, it was going to be at his hands, as the hero of Wonyth, not by some random poison. Hwanwoong opened the door, hurrying out into the hallway. A henchman was standing against the wall by the door, apparently on guard.

“You!” Hwanwoong shouted. “He’s—Ravn’s been poisoned. He needs help, right now. Get the apothecary, or someone.”

The henchman paled, nodding gravely before rushing off down the hallway. Hwanwoong didn’t spare even a moment to watch him go, immediately going back into the dining room. Ravn was still curled on the floor, trembling. Hwanwoong knelt beside him once again, saying,

“Help will be here soon, just hang on.”

Was there anything he could do in the meantime? He’d told Ravn that Xion would be there soon, but in reality it would likely take at least a couple hours. When the apothecary had come to look at Hwanwoong’s arms a couple weeks ago he’d mentioned something about the length of the journey, though Hwanwoong couldn’t exactly remember it now. He took a deep breath. He’d just have to try his best to keep Ravn alive until then.

“M-mint,” Ravn choked out, his voice barely a whisper. Hwanwoong wasn’t even sure he’d spoken until he repeated himself, “Mint.”

“Mint? Will that help?” Hwanwoong stood up, looking at their plates. There was a snippet of mint on both, but Hwanwoong wasn’t sure if it was safe. If Hwanwoong’s food had been poisoned, wouldn’t Ravn’s have been as well? Otherwise how would the person responsible have ensured that regardless of which plate Hwanwoong got, he would’ve received the poison? He pushed aside the idea that Ravn might’ve poisoned the food; if he had, that meant he’d known what he was doing when he ate from Hwanwoong’s plate, and as far as Hwanwoong knew, Ravn had no reason to intentionally poison himself. Hwanwoong sighed in frustration. He wouldn’t use the mint from their meals. He’d have to go get some himself.

He hurried out of the room for a second time, jogging down the hallway until he found Ravn’s kitchen. He’d never actually been inside it, unfortunately, so finding what he needed was going to be a challenge. He opened the door. It was much smaller than he’d expected, and also very well organized. His thoughts drifted back to when he’d looked through the chest in Ravn’s room. How could Ravn be so disorganized with his personal belongings and yet have such a neat kitchen? Whatever, now was not the time to think about that. He needed to find mint.

After rummaging through several cabinets and containers, Hwanwoong found several herb plants—including mint—stored in a sunny side pantry. He didn’t even think to look for something to trim off the leaves, instead hastily ripping off as much as he could fit in his hand. Most likely, time was of the essence in this situation. He returned to the dining room, and his stomach dropped when he noticed that Ravn lay completely still.

“Ravn?” Hwanwoong called, rushing over. He couldn’t… He couldn’t be dead already, right? He sat down, placing the mint in his lap. Gingerly, he reached out, tapping Ravn’s arm.

“Ravn?” He said again. “I’ve got you mint. What do I do now?”

There was no response. Hwanwoong tried to push down the panic rising in his throat. He grabbed Ravn’s shoulder, turning the man over to face him. Hwanwoong sighed in relief when a quiet moan came from Ravn, likely in protest to being moved. However, his panic quickly came surging back upon seeing his enemy’s state. Ravn’s face was flushed and swollen, and his eyes, just barely open, were glassy and unfocused. What should he do? Was he supposed to feed Ravn the mint?

Well, he might as well try. It wasn’t like he could think of another option. He held a leaf to Ravn’s lips, but the man didn’t even seem to register that it was there.

“Ravn,” He said. “Eat. It’ll help.”

No response. Hwanwoong looked around desperately, wondering how he could get Ravn to take the mint. His eyes stopped on the glass of water in front of Ravn’s spot at the table. Maybe he could somehow make him drink it? It was worth a shot.

He reached up, grabbing the glass, and set it down next to him. He tried to tear the leaves into pieces, but given that he could only use one hand, it was rather difficult. Hwanwoong quickly gave up, throwing them into the glass whole and cursing Ravn for rendering his left arm absolutely useless.

Hwanwoong grabbed Ravn by the shirt collar, dragging him so that his head rested in his lap. Then he took the glass, pouring its contents into the man’s mouth. To his relief, Ravn swallowed.

Okay. He’d gotten some mint into him. But would it be enough? Hwanwoong didn’t know when Xion was supposed to arrive, and from Ravn’s current state it appeared that he might not have much time left. But Hwanwoong was helpless. There was nothing more he could do but wait.

“Look,” he muttered. “You’d better not die on me now. We have unfinished business, still. It’d be horrendously rude of you to pass away before I got the chance to defeat you in battle, and not to mention, I still need to ask you—”

The door opened, and Hwanwoong’s attention snapped to the person entering the room. Relief washed through him when he recognized the youthful face of Xion.

“You’re lucky I was in the area,” the apothecary said as he strode over to where Ravn and Hwanwoong were on the floor. “Poison, huh? Let’s take a look.”

He knelt beside Hwanwoong, his eyes roaming over Ravn. He inhaled sharply.

“Must be Ancanyde. He’ll live, probably, but only if I act quickly. Can you help me?” He turned to Hwanwoong. “Also, did you give him anything before I got here?”

Hwanwoong nodded.

“Yeah, I gave him some mint. He told me to.”

Xion hummed in acknowledgement, then did a double take, seeming to register who Hwanwoong was.

“Oh, it’s you. I didn’t realize. You can’t help me, not with those broken arms. Go get me a henchman or two. I need someone who can restrain him. This isn’t going to be pretty.”

Hwanwoong bit his lip, nodding again. He lifted Ravn’s head off of his lap and gingerly stood up, turning away from the men on the floor. Why did he feel kind of… reluctant to leave? Strange. He really shouldn’t be _that_ concerned. He headed for the door, and just as he was about to walk through, Xion called after him.

“By the way, I wouldn’t recommend coming back. You might not want to see this. Especially if he doesn’t make it.”

Hwanwoong shuddered at the young man’s words, not even bothering to give any kind of response. He left the room, sending in a few henchmen from the many that had now gathered outside the dining room.

Not sure of what to do with himself, Hwanwoong went to the library to wait. He didn’t really expect anyone to come and tell him what happened, but he figured that he’d find out soon enough, regardless of the outcome. He sat down in one of the many large, comfortable chairs scattered throughout the room, sighing. Who would’ve thought he’d ever be this worried for the well-being of his enemy? He certainly hadn’t seen it coming. But it was okay, he reassured himself, it wasn’t because he liked Ravn or anything. It was merely out of concern for his own personal gain. If Ravn died, Hwanwoong couldn’t fight him and claim the glory of eliminating his country’s greatest threat—a feat that he’d aspired to from the time he was a child—so of course he’d be worried. It was perfectly logical.

He wasn’t even aware of it, but his eyes were drifting closed. He’d had a long day. The last thing he thought before he fell asleep was that Ravn would live. He would definitely make it. He had to.


	8. Youngjo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry for the slightly late post, I had a lot going on this week. Thank you so much for all the support! I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)  
> Btw, Happy Valentine's Day!!

“Hero.”

Someone was nudging Hwanwoong awake. He cracked his eyes open, groggily peeking at the person who dared disturb his sleep. It was a henchwoman, and she looked rather tired.

“Master Ravn sent for you. You must go at once.”

Hwanwoong snapped fully awake, all sleepiness gone. Ravn was alive. Thank goodness.

Wait, _no_.

Hwanwoong almost gagged at his own relief. Gross. He shouldn’t be nearly so excited about the survival of his _enemy_. He stood, wincing at a stab of soreness in his spine. The henchwoman left the room, and he followed. She led him all the way to Ravn’s room, stopping just down the hallway. There were two henchmen on either side of Ravn’s door, as if they were standing guard. Hwanwoong approached them, and though neither one stopped him, they cast hostile glares at him as he walked between them. His skin crawled under their gazes, but he tried his best to ignore it, quickly entering the room and shutting the door behind him, his eyes glued to the floor.

“Took you long enough.” Ravn’s voice was quiet and strained. Hwanwoong looked up. Ravn was lying in his bed, his pale face the only thing visible above the thick blankets. Though he looked exhausted and sickly, he still looked better than before, Hwanwoong noted, recalling the way his face had been swollen and red.

Hwanwoong wasn’t sure what to say. He stood awkwardly by the door, silently watching his enemy.

“You can come sit, or something. You don’t have to keep standing there.” Ravn said. Hwanwoong nodded, timidly stepping closer to Ravn’s bed.

Ravn sighed.

“You’re gonna make me do all the talking, huh? A little inconsiderate, don’t you think? It’s not exactly easy, considering I just almost died. And saving you, too.”

“If it’s so hard then why do you keep talking?” Hwanwoong asked. “I just don’t know what to say.”

“You could say, oh, I don’t know—” Ravn paused, coughing. “Something like, ‘Thank you so much Ravn for getting poisoned in my stead, because I definitely would’ve died if I had.’”

“Someone’s rather salty now, isn’t he?” Hwanwoong raised an eyebrow.

“Can you blame me? I’ve never been so close to death before. Scary thing, y’know.”

Hwanwoong nodded sheepishly. He supposed Ravn had a point.

“But,” Ravn’s tone softened. “I would like to thank you for also saving me. If it weren’t for you I probably would have died. That’s what Xion said, anyway. You were smart enough to get some mint into my system.”

“I mean, you were the one who told me to get it. All I did was force you to take it.” Hwanwoong felt his face heat up. He hadn’t expected Ravn to thank him for anything. It wasn’t like he’d really done much.

“Yeah, but it helped. It slowed down the process. If I hadn’t taken it, the poison probably would’ve killed me before Xion got there.”

“Oh,” Hwanwoong suddenly had a question he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to, but he was too curious not to ask. “How did he heal you, anyway? He told me to leave, so I didn’t get to see.”

Ravn grinned.

“Have you ever been force-fed rocks?” He asked. Hwanwoong shook his head, eyes wide. “Well, that’s basically what he did. Not really rocks, though, it was charcoal or something. I don’t entirely know myself what he did or how it worked, I just know it was quite unpleasant.”

Hwanwoong was once again at a loss for words. What was he supposed to say to that? Ravn spoke again.

“At least I’m alive. After all, it would’ve been horrendously rude of me to die before our battle, wouldn’t it?”

“You heard me say that?” Hwanwoong hid his face in his hands, as if to shield himself from the wave of embarrassment washing over him. He’d just been trying to calm his nerves, he hadn’t thought that Ravn was even conscious.

“I was a little too affected by the poison to do anything at that point, but yes. I heard you. I’d inquire what you have to ask me about, but my strength is declining by the second. I think I’ll rest now, if that’s okay with you.” Ravn’s eyes were drooping closed, already half-shut.

“Of course,” Hwanwoong turned, starting to leave Ravn’s small room. He stopped just before the door, looking back at his weakened enemy. The man’s eyes were closed, and Hwanwoong assumed that he’d fallen asleep already. “Thank you, Ravn. For taking the poison in my place. I truly do appreciate it.”

He meant it. He didn’t really want Ravn to know that, however, which was why he’d only said it now. But Hwanwoong knew Ravn was right when he’d said earlier that if he took it, he would’ve died. He could appreciate when someone saved his life, even if that person was his sworn enemy. He left the room, softly shutting the door behind him.

What Hwanwoong didn’t see was the smile tugging at the corners of Ravn’s lips as he closed the door.

~ ~ ~

Ravn sent for Hwanwoong around noon the next day. When Hwanwoong came into his room he looked much better than the night before; still pale and sickly, but there had been some improvement. There was just a little more color in his face, perhaps.

“So, my dearest Hwanwoong, what is it that you absolutely _have_ to ask me?” Ravn inquired immediately, not even saying hello.

“Hey Ravn,” Hwanwoong said. “Can I sit down?”

“Be my guest. I certainly hope that wasn’t the question you had in mind yesterday.”

Ravn was definitely feeling better, because he was already getting on Hwanwoong’s nerves. Hwanwoong sat down on the edge of Ravn’s bed, not wanting to get too close to the man.

“So…” Hwanwoong started. Was this a good idea? He’d put off directly asking this for so long. Was he absolutely sure that he wanted to know who Ravn really was? His throat suddenly felt dry, and a knot of apprehension formed in his stomach. There was no guarantee that he’d like Ravn’s answer, but he had to know. If he didn’t confirm his suspicions now, they’d plague him until he eventually did, anyway. “Who are you?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Ravn smiled as he asked the question, as if something about it were funny. “You know who I am. In fact, according to you, you know _everything_ about me.”

“Well I was wrong. I don’t. A-and I think I know who you are—who you really are—but I’m asking because I need to be sure.” Hwanwoong looked down at his hands, hating that he had to admit he’d been wrong.

“Why don’t you tell me what your guess is? I’ll tell you if you’re right or not.”

“I think…” Hwanwoong paused, wracking his brain. What had the heir’s name been? He hadn’t been mentioned often after his death. The last syllable of his name was ‘Jo,’ Hwanwoong knew that much. Was it Hwanjo? No, that surely wasn’t it. He dug deeper into his few memories regarding the late heir. Was it… Youngjo? Yes, that sounded right. Hopefully it was, or he was about to sound like a complete fool. “I think that you’re the Premier’s eldest. The heir, Kim Youngjo.” Saying it out loud, he felt stupid. It didn’t make any sense, really—

Ravn inhaled sharply. Hwanwoong glanced up at him. His eyes were shining with an emotion Hwanwoong couldn’t quite place.

“It’s been so long since I’ve heard my real name.” Ravn whispered.

“So you are?” Hwanwoong asked.

Ravn nodded.

“Unfortunately, yes.” He said.

Now that he knew for sure, a million questions formed in Hwanwoong’s head. Before he could stop himself, they were escaping through his lips, so fast he wasn’t even sure what he was asking.

“How’d you end up here? Why would you turn evil? What made you turn against your own country? What about your family? Wh—” One tired look from Ravn, and Hwanwoong stopped.

“It’s a long story,” Ravn sighed, closing his eyes. “I don’t have the energy to tell it right now. Give me a few days to recover, okay?”

“Okay.” Hwanwoong couldn’t help but to feel a little guilty. Clearly, Ravn was expending a lot of effort to talk to him when he should’ve been resting instead. It was quite rude on his part to keep talking to Ravn and disrupting his recovery. Hwanwoong decided that he’d leave Ravn alone for a little so that he’d be able to regain his strength without any distractions. He stood up, ready to leave.

Ravn’s eyes opened, and he looked at Hwanwoong with bleary confusion.

“Where are you going?” His voice was sleepy, quiet. “You should stay.”

“I didn’t think—um, I figured I’d let you get some rest. I’m a bit of a distraction, am I not?”

Ravn shook his head, ruffling his hair on his pillow. It was kind of… cute. Unconsciously, Hwanwoong smiled.

Wait. No, that was _not_ cute. Absolutely not. Hwanwoong’s smile faded and he suddenly felt close to nauseous, appalled at his own thoughts. This was his enemy, for goodness sake! Even though Ravn had saved his life twice, he still hated him. He’d always hated him, and he always would. But then, if Hwanwoong hated the man so much, why did the sight of a sleepy, slightly bewildered Ravn make him feel warm inside?

“Not a distraction. ‘Ts safer if you’re near me.” Ravn’s eyes were slowly closing, and it was clear to Hwanwoong he was fighting to stay awake at this point.

“What?” Hwanwoong tried to ignore the way his face was heating up. At least Ravn was probably too out of it to see that he was blushing, for some reason.

“S’ been two attempts…” Ravn stopped mid sentence, his eyelids fluttering all the way shut. Hwanwoong sighed. Should he really stay? He had an idea of what Ravn had been trying to say, and it kind of made sense… if it weren’t for the fact that at present, Ravn was far too weak to protect Hwanwoong if there was another assassination attempt. Hell, someone could come into the room right now and murder him while Ravn slept, completely unaware. So really, what was the point?

But if Hwanwoong wasn’t in the room when Ravn woke up, he could always just send one of his henchmen to go find him, forcing him to come back. He almost definitely would, Hwanwoong realized. Groaning internally, Hwanwoong sat back down on the edge of Ravn’s bed, trying his best not to disturb his sleeping enemy. There wasn’t really a point in leaving if he was going to have to come back anyway the moment Ravn awoke. Besides, who knew when that would be? Sure, it could be in a few hours, but it could also be in only a few minutes. Hwanwoong couldn’t know for sure. So he’d stay.

He raised his eyes to the blank ceiling, frustrated with his own decision. This was going to be incredibly boring.

~ ~ ~

“Hwanwoong?” Ravn’s sleepy voice jolted him out of his thoughts. Hwanwoong guessed that it’d only been an hour or so since Ravn had fallen asleep, and he’d passed it by doing absolutely nothing; he’d stared at the wall and tried to convince himself of just how much he hated Ravn. To his dismay, it hadn’t worked very well. “You stayed. I didn’t think you would.”

There was something close to happiness in Ravn’s tone, and Hwanwoong wasn’t sure if he appreciated it.

“For goodness sake, Ravn, stop wasting your energy on talking to me,” Hwanwoong snapped, turning to glare at his enemy. “Rest properly so you can recover fast, I want to…”

Why were Ravn’s cheeks red? Hwanwoong blinked, taken aback. Was he feeling ill?

“Um… I’ll rest, I promise, but please… call me Youngjo.” He mumbled, eyes downturned.

Hwanwoong stared at the man blankly for a second, trying to process this. Why was Ravn—er, Youngjo—acting like he was shy? What was going on?

“Okay,” He finally said. “Are you feeling alright, Youngjo?”

Youngjo nodded. He lifted his gaze, meeting Hwanwoong’s.

“Thanks.” Youngjo smiled, and Hwanwoong felt his heart flutter. He swallowed nervously. Why did it do that? Was he developing some sort of condition? This couldn’t be right.

What was happening to him?


	9. The Truth, A Second Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *PLEASE READ*  
> This chapter starts out pretty light and normal, but around the middle it starts getting pretty dark pretty fast (in my opinion). I don't think I went super super in detail about anything but I just wanted to put a warning here in case because there is mention of fire (in the sense of burning stuff down), mass murder, and implication of s*icide/s*icidal thoughts.   
> Also, as far as I have things planned out right now this (and maaaybe the next chapter but I'm not 100% sure yet) will be the only chapter that mentions these kind of things, so please don't get the impression that the entire rest of the story will be like this, ahah. It'll certainly be dark at parts but not to this extent.

Youngjo’s strength grew with every passing day, and so did Hwanwoong’s conflicting emotions towards him. They’d spent just about every waking moment together since Youngjo had first asked Hwanwoong to stay with him; they were only apart at night, when Hwanwoong had been adamant he go back to his own room. Thank goodness Youngjo had conceded to that, because if there was one thing Hwanwoong definitely wouldn’t do, it was spend the night sharing a room with his enemy. He may have discovered Youngjo’s identity, but that didn’t change a thing. They were still enemies. They were on opposing sides: Hwanwoong was good, Youngjo was evil. It was simple.

Hwanwoong stared up at the chandelier above his bed, absentmindedly tracing its lines with his eyes. He didn’t want to go see Youngjo. He didn’t want to spend another day with him, trying to ignore the weird flutters in his chest and the uncomfortably affectionate thoughts that came to mind whenever he looked at the man. He just couldn’t do it anymore. He didn’t understand his own feelings, because he hated Youngjo. He could never feel anything besides animosity towards him, and yet… this—whatever _this_ was—didn’t feel like hatred. Hwanwoong was not a fan.

One of his doors swung open, and he sat up, looking towards the entrance in surprise. Youngjo was standing in the doorway, leaning heavily on the doorframe. Their eyes met, and he flashed Hwanwoong a smile. Hwanwoong frowned, displeased at both Youngjo’s sudden appearance and the butterflies in his own stomach because of it.

“Good morning.”

“Youngjo, what are you doing here?” Hwanwoong asked, getting out of bed. He began walking towards the doors. It was clear to him that Youngjo couldn’t stand for much longer. He was in much better condition than he’d been in a few days ago, sure, but the walk from his room to Hwanwoong’s was probably still a lot for him at the moment.

“You’ve been coming to me for the past few days, so I figured I’d come to you for a change.” Youngjo’s tone was light, but he grimaced as he spoke, bracing himself further against the doorframe.

Hwanwoong shook his head as he reached Youngjo, stopping just in front of him.

“You didn’t have to do that. Now look, you’ve tired yourself out already,” He sighed, hating what he was about to do. “Need help?”

Youngjo chuckled sheepishly.

“Yeah.”

Very well, then. Hwanwoong took Youngjo’s arm, slinging it over his shoulders.

“Ready?” He asked. Youngjo nodded, and they stepped away from the doorway. Hwanwoong felt more like he was dragging Youngjo than anything, but he kept walking.

Now why was his heart racing? Hwanwoong couldn’t believe himself. This was not the time for his body to betray him into thinking he felt any kind of way about Youngjo. But they were _touching_. And they were so close together…

“You’re awfully heavy.” Hwanwoong huffed, deciding to take some of his irritation out on Youngjo. This was his fault, anyway. If he hadn’t been an idiot and come all the way here, Hwanwoong wouldn’t have to deal with this right now.

“My apologies, dearest,” Youngjo said, although he didn’t sound apologetic in the slightest. “But maybe you’re just weak.”

“I am _not_ weak.” Hwanwoong snapped. He was a hero, he was far from weak. Youngjo wouldn’t be saying something so insulting after they fought.

“If you insist.”

They reached Hwanwoong’s bed, and he roughly separated himself from Youngjo, letting the man drop onto the bed.

“Thanks,” Youngjo grinned up at Hwanwoong. “Also, nice nightshirt.”

Hwanwoong glanced down at himself, blushing when he realized that he was still in his sleepwear. He’d been so distracted by Youngjo’s arrival that he hadn’t even thought to get dressed before he helped the man into his room.

“You’re annoying,” He told Youngjo as he hurried away from him, towards the chest of clothes in the corner of his room. He didn’t care if his enemy took offense to that—it wasn’t like there was anything he could do to Hwanwoong right now. “I’ll go get changed.”

He opened the chest, grabbing the first vaguely matching set of clothing he could find. He could feel Youngjo’s amused eyes on him, and he despised it. He scurried to the bathroom connected to his room, slamming the door behind him. What was with Youngjo, anyway? Despite being Hwanwoong’s enemy, the man had never shown any kind of animosity towards him. If anything, Youngjo had always seemed to _like_ Hwanwoong, even though he had no reason to. Hwanwoong shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Whatever. It didn’t matter.

Hwanwoong started to change clothes. He’d be stuck with Youngjo all day today, just as he had been for way too many days before. Regardless of what happened, or how he might inexplicably make Hwanwoong feel sometimes, he had to remember that there was no one else in this world that he hated more than Ravn, even though Ravn happened to also be Kim Youngjo, the former heir.

When he was finished, he left the bathroom, heading back to where Youngjo was now lying sprawled over his bed.

“Y’know, if you didn’t come so ridiculously early in the morning, I would’ve been dressed before you arrived.” Hwanwoong grumbled.

Youngjo waved a hand in dismissal.

“It’s not like I mind,” He said. “And I must admit, you look good in my nightshirt.”

Hwanwoong froze.

“That’s yours?”

“Of course. Why do you think it’s so big on you?”

Well, Hwanwoong was never going to wear that again. He’d just assumed it had belonged to a random henchman or someone, not Youngjo himself.

Wait.

Did that mean all of the clothes he’d been wearing were Youngjo’s too? But they actually fit him, more or less, so they couldn’t be, right? He hoped so.

“A-are all of those clothes…” He started to say, pointing at the chest. His face was burning, and he turned away from Youngjo, careful not to let him see. He’d rather die than let his enemy know how strangely flustered he’d become.

“No, those are from one of my henchwomen. They belonged to her son, but he outgrew them. She didn’t know what to do with them until you came along.”

Hwanwoong sighed, partly in relief and partly in irritation. Of course he was wearing some kid’s outgrown clothes. That _definitely_ didn’t make him feel overly conscious of his small stature at all. But at least he wasn’t wearing Youngjo’s clothes. That would’ve been too much.

“What, were you hoping that I’d given you my clothes, too?” Youngjo asked.

“No,” Hwanwoong answered a little too quickly. “No, not at all.” He still couldn’t face Youngjo, he was nearly positive that he was still bright red. Youngjo laughed from behind him, and he clenched his fists. Damn that Kim Youngjo. How was it that he’d started to have this kind of an effect on Hwanwoong? He really must be evil.

“Well anyway,” Youngjo’s tone was suddenly serious. “I came to see you this early because I wanted to talk to you,” He paused. “About my past.”

Finally. Hwanwoong swallowed his annoyance and took a breath, trying to ensure that the color had left his face before he turned around. This was what he’d been waiting for.

“Okay.” He turned to face Youngjo, who was now sitting up on the bed, watching him with grave eyes.

“I’m going to tell you everything. I don’t think you’ll want to hear some of this, but even if you don’t like it, please just listen to me. You don’t even have to believe me.”

“Okay,” Hwanwoong said again, taking a seat on the other side of his bed. “I can do that.”

Youngjo nodded.

“So... as you know, I’m the heir. I never really had it easy, though; even when I was young I was being given extra responsibilities and there was always this kind of… sense of pressure to prove I was worthy, I suppose.” He paused, looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “But I think things started to really take a turn for the worse when I was about sixteen. That was when I officially started working with my father. It was fine, at the beginning. I just did minor things. I stayed in the capital, basically running errands for him and sitting in on some minor government meetings. I was still just a kid, so it was a good introduction to that kind of life. Then when I turned eighteen, my father told me that I had to leave for a year. I was going to travel the entire country, it was his gift to me,” He turned his attention to Hwanwoong, looking at him curiously. “Hwanwoong, have you always lived in the capital?”

Hwanwoong nodded. He’d never even left the capital before he left to fight Youngjo, which was kind of strange, now that he thought about it. Youngjo spoke again.

“Have you ever been outside of it?”

“No, not until I came here.”

“I suspected as much. Well, there’s a reason for that. The rest of Wonyth is a mess. Absolutely tragic, honestly, I’ll never forget how awful it was. The way people lived… from what I saw, I can confidently say that if you don’t live in the capital, you’re living in extreme poverty. I’d never before imagined that people could live the way they do in Wonyth. I remember seeing people so starved they looked like skeletons. In the cold months, I remember seeing people eating snow to quell their hunger. Some of them didn’t have anything close to proper shelter, they lived in shacks or just on the street. It was horrific. The worst part was that I wasn’t allowed to do anything. I wanted to help them, I tried to in the first place I visited, but the guards I’d gone with stopped me. My father didn’t send me there to help them, just to see them. When I finally went back to the capital, he told me that their lives were miserable like that because of Ravn. He claimed that Ravn was constantly stealing resources and attacking Wonyth. In all my travels, I never experienced or even heard mention of a single attack anywhere. I should’ve realized something was strange then, but I didn’t question him.”

“Okay, right, but _you’re_ Ravn.” Hwanwoong interrupted. Youngjo sighed.

“Yes, dearest, I am now. Obviously, I wasn’t always. ‘Ravn’ isn’t a person, or at least he wasn’t until I became him. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves now, I’ll explain that later. Ravn was a threat that we both grew up hearing about, but I’d never understood what exactly was so evil about Ravn until then. When I found out, I was so angry I swore I’d defeat Ravn myself. My father thought it was funny, and only told me to leave fighting Ravn to the heroes in his training programs. So like a good son, I listened, and I did nothing. I’d been taught how to fight when I was younger, but naturally I assumed that the heroes were better than I was. So for a couple more years, I just continued to work with my father, blindly trusting him.  
And although I’d been told I couldn’t fight Ravn, my father made me do more and more battle training, which I thought was kind of odd. But on my twenty-first birthday, he made me put it to use. Kind of. It was another… gift from him, if you can call it that. I wouldn’t consider it one, but he did. Anyway, I didn’t actually do much fighting. He sent me and five hundred soldiers out to one of the villages on the outskirts of the country, saying that the village had been taken by Ravn and that we needed to get it back at any cost. So we went. We attacked in the middle of the night, we set fire to some of the buildings and then…” Youngjo’s voice started to waver. He took a breath before continuing,

“They were all wood. It was a poor village, almost every structure was made of wood and straw. S-so they all went up. It was the dry season, so it happened really fast. The fire spread really quickly and everything was burning. The whole village.” His voice cracked. “A-and when people started coming out, we killed them. They didn’t have a chance. It was a small village, so there weren’t that many of them. And obviously, they weren’t evil. They were just villagers, and we murdered them all, because we’d been told they were Ravn’s people.”

“You killed all those people?” Hwanwoong asked, appalled. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach.

Youngjo sent him a withering glare.

“Don’t look at me like that, like I’m some kind of monster. Remember that you’re a murderer too.” He spat. But a mere moment later he softened, his hostility melting away as if it had never been there. “There’s blood on both of our hands, my dearest, don’t pretend like either one of us is better than the other.”

Hwanwoong didn’t know what to say. He stared at Youngjo with wide eyes, waiting for him to speak again. Youngjo looked down at his hands, sniffling.

“I didn’t even realize what we were doing until I was going after two of them, and I realized that they were children. I was trying to kill children.” Youngjo fell silent, covering his mouth with a hand. It took him a few moments to continue his story, his voice pained and quiet.

“I couldn’t do it, but the other men I was with… they were brutal. When I tried to let the kids escape, they saw. They saw, and they held me down and forced me watch someone else murder them. I tried to escape, I didn’t want to go back to the capital, but the soldiers arrested me. I had no choice. I was called a traitor and brought back as a criminal, and then my own father imprisoned me. But at the time, I couldn’t really understand why. I was still trying to figure out what had happened and why my father had made us do something so horrible.  
I don’t know for sure, but I’m pretty sure it was my mother that got me freed from prison. I was probably there for a few months, I honestly don’t remember how long it was, but I know that during the time I was there, my mother pleaded with my father every day to free me. I don’t think she ever really knew why I was there. So I got out, and my life kind of went back to normal, except my father refused to see me, and I wasn’t allowed to continue battle training or take part in governmental functions like I used to. I don’t know what he told people about why I was no longer around much, but I guess it doesn’t matter now.  
After I was freed, I spent most of my time trying to put everything together. I had to figure out why I’d been sent to kill my own citizens, and why I’d gotten in trouble for refusing to. Really, once I was actively searching for it, the truth wasn’t particularly difficult to find. It was right in front of me, honestly, I just didn’t know enough to look for it before. My father, the Premier of Wonyth, was mistreating and killing his own citizens as a way to maintain his own power. He’d made up a person called Ravn, who he could claim was a threat and the source of all the country’s problems. In reality, he was abusing his power, but distracting his citizens with this scapegoat he’d created, Ravn, so that they wouldn’t realize what he was doing and turn on him. That’s the truth behind Ravn.”

“So… how did you become Ravn, then?” Hwanwoong inquired. His head was spinning. Could he believe what Youngjo was telling him? How did he even begin to process all of this?

“I confronted my father about what I’d been able to piece together. At first, he almost seemed proud of me for figuring it out. But when he realized that I intended to put an end to it… well, let’s just say it didn’t go well for me. What he did to me that day was the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced. It was worse than being poisoned, and it didn’t even come close to killing me like the poison did. And then he cast me out, but not really, not fully. Instead of just killing me or exiling me normally, he sent me here. Here, as in this manor, which he’d been using to house the people working for him as Ravn. He made me Ravn, and told everyone who’d been working here before me that they were now working under me. But really, I know I’m just a figurehead. I have a little power here, but at the end of the day, those ‘henchmen’ of mine take their orders—the major ones—from my father. I tried to fight him, and I ended up as his puppet.” Youngjo laughed bitterly. “I’ve been here for years now, and at this point I’m starting to lose faith in the idea of ever getting out.”

“Have you tried getting out?”

“There’s no point in trying, I already know that if I tried to escape he’d kill me.”

“Oh.” Hwanwoong hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “Y’know, if you’re really desperate, though, there’s always other ways…”

“Do you think I haven’t contemplated that? Maybe you don’t believe so, but I don’t think it’s wrong of me to value my life, as miserable as it may be.” Youngjo raised his head, gazing at Hwanwoong coldly.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant!” Hwanwoong gasped, shaking his head.

“Well then what did you mean?” Youngjo cocked his head curiously.

“Couldn’t you reason with your father? Even if you have to beg him or do something kind of humiliating. Surely he’d let you go if he saw how unhappy you are, you’re his son, after all.” Hwanwoong said.

Youngjo laughed, and the sound of it startled Hwanwoong. It was so… empty.

“Does my father seem like the type to be reasoned with?”

“I suppose not, I’m sorry.” Hwanwoong sighed.

“Also—and this is rather foolish of me—I still hope that someday I’ll be able to go back. I’m so tired of being here, of being a _villain_. I don’t even do anything, and all of Wonyth’s problems are blamed on me anyway. I’m just a scapegoat. All I want is to go back. I’ll do whatever I have to, I’ll play along with my father’s stupid little game or whatever this whole Ravn business is. Because I think if I can go back, I can fix this. I just have to wait until he passes, and then when I become the Premier, I’ll fix everything.” As he talked, Youngjo was beginning to look more and more exhausted, but determination shone clearly in his expression.

Something dawned on Hwanwoong, and with a sinking feeling in his heart, he knew that he had to tell Youngjo. It was going to hurt him, but it had to be done. And also, why did Hwanwoong care if what he was about to say hurt Youngjo? Even after learning all so much about the man, it wasn’t like he _cared_ about him.

“Youngjo, I’m so sorry to tell you this, but you can’t go back.” Hwanwoong said.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Well… in Wonyth, you’re dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry for skipping a week but I was busy with midterms and I also didn't like the way I initially wrote this chapter so I ended up rewriting a good section of it which took some time. The next chapter will hopefully be up sometime within this week, but if I'm too busy it'll be out on Sunday or Monday like most of the other chapters so far. I hope you enjoyed, and thank you for reading!


	10. A Shift

“I’m sorry, I’m _what_?” Youngjo’s eyes widened.

“You’re dead, Youngjo. You have been for more than three years. One day the Premier made an announcement saying that you passed away, and then there was a mourning period and a funeral and everything.” Hwanwoong said.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not. I went to your funeral, I was a trainee at the time,” Hwanwoong bit his lip before continuing, “You can’t go back. Everyone thinks you’re dead.”

“Everyone except my father.” Youngjo murmured.

The sorrow written in Youngjo’s expression almost pained Hwanwoong, though he wasn’t sure why.

“I always wondered how he explained my absence, I guess now I know,” Youngjo sighed. “So there’s no chance for me to return, then. At least not while he’s alive.”

Hwanwoong shook his head.

“Probably not.”

“Who took my place?” Youngjo asked, his voice quiet.

“One of your sisters. Keumjo, I think.” Hwanwoong wasn’t completely sure, he’d been too wrapped up in his training to pay much attention to happenings within the Premier family.

Youngjo nodded, a faraway look in his eyes.

“That sounds right, she’s the next oldest. She’s doing a good job, I’m sure. I just wonder if she knows the truth.”

“I don’t know,” Hwanwoong shrugged. “I don’t even know if I believe your version of the truth, Youngjo. What you’ve just told me sounds insane.”

“I never said you had to believe me, all I asked was that you listened. And you did, so now do what you like with what I told you. I do wish you’d believe me, but it’s not as if I can force you.” Youngjo laid back on Hwanwoong’s bed, his voice threaded with defeat.

“I mean, unfortunately, everything you’ve told me makes sense. I just don’t know…” Hwanwoong trailed off. He was still processing everything. He hated that Youngjo’s story had actually made sense. But… how could it be true? If it were really true then it meant almost everything Hwanwoong had thought he’d known was a lie. He wasn’t sure he could deal with that. A question formed in his mind. He’d find out some more information before he came to any kind of decision on the truth of Youngjo’s story.

“So… your father sends heroes here… to kill you.” It came out more like a statement than a question, but Youngjo nodded in confirmation.

“They never actually make it very far though, because the training programs are a sham. They teach you the mere basics of fighting and then send you off to come fight me. Most of you don’t even make it past the first few henchmen. You’re one of only a handful to get as far as you did, and even though that’s probably why I was able to save you, you’re the only one I was able to save. You’re more lucky than you know, Hwanwoong.”

“Save me? What do you mean?” In what way had Youngjo saved Hwanwoong? It felt more like he’d damned him than anything else.

“Do you really think you would have survived long if I’d left you in that trap? If I hadn’t become aware of your presence as soon as I did, one of the henchmen would’ve killed you.” Youngjo answered.

“Oh.”

Youngjo continued,

“Granted, I endangered us both by saving you then. You aren’t supposed to be here, you’re supposed to be dead. That’s why the henchmen have been trying to kill you. They’re acting under my father’s orders. He found out that you’re here, and he wants you gone.”

Hwanwoong gulped. It made sense. It really made sense. But, if he wasn’t supposed to survive, why was he sent after Youngjo in the first place?

“Are all of the heroes supposed to die?” He asked, his voice coming out much more shaky than he’d meant.

Youngjo nodded.

“Why?” Hwanwoong was starting to feel sick to his stomach again.

“If the heroes keep dying instead of defeating Ravn, it means the Premier can continue to use him as a scapegoat. The moment Ravn is defeated, he has to find something else to distract his people.”

Hwanwoong nodded. Like everything else Youngjo had told him, it made sense. What was he supposed to do with this information? How could he know if it was true?

“Youngjo,” He said. “I don’t know what to think.”

“That’s okay,” Youngjo’s voice was soft. “It’s a lot. I’m sorry for unloading it all on you at once, but there wasn’t really a better way. Just please consider that what I’m telling you might be the truth.”

“I am. But I don’t want to. It’s so much to process…” Hwanwoong flopped back, laying down beside Youngjo.

“It is.” Youngjo agreed.

They fell into silence. Hwanwoong’s mind was racing a mile a minute. Sure, Youngjo could be lying. Though if he was, it was an incredibly elaborate and detailed lie.

But if Youngjo wasn’t lying, then what was Hwanwoong supposed to do? He couldn’t remain loyal to the Premier if he was really responsible for the atrocities Youngjo had described. Except if he wasn’t on the Premier’s side, whose was he on? Was he automatically on Youngjo’s? Did Youngjo even have a side, since technically he was still working under the control of the Premier?

Hwanwoong almost wished that Youngjo hadn’t told him any of this. He could’ve avoided all this turmoil if he’d just lived unaware of the truth, and it would’ve been so much easier. But if he did remain ignorant, what would that have meant for Youngjo? Up until now, Hwanwoong’s goal was to defeat him. Whether that meant killing Youngjo himself, or bringing him back to Wonyth for execution, the completion of his goal ultimately resulted in Youngjo’s death. And now, well, Hwanwoong wasn’t sure he wanted that anymore. He wasn’t a hateful person; the only thing he’d ever truly hated was Ravn. But now that he knew who Ravn was, knew that Ravn wasn’t what he’d been taught, he couldn’t hate him anymore. It would be wrong, and besides, he’d been unconvinced of his apparent hatred for Youngjo for some time now. At least, thanks to Youngjo’s story, he could finally admit that.

Maybe he should trust him. Yes, he could do that—for now at least. But if it ever turned out that he’d been lied to, Hwanwoong would kill the man without a second thought.

“I believe you.” Hwanwoong whispered.

“Really? I didn’t expect that. Or at least, I didn’t expect you to come around so quick.”

“I just have one question,” Hwanwoong turned his head to look at Youngjo, who looked back at him, raising an eyebrow curiously. “Have you ever lied to me, Youngjo?”

“Never, dearest, and I never will. I promise.” The sincerity in Youngjo’s expression caught Hwanwoong off guard. He also hadn’t noticed just how close their faces were until now, opposite each other on the bed. What was this weird feeling suddenly overtaking him? He tried to fight it, but he couldn’t stop the warmth making its way up his neck and into his face.

“Okay,” he said. “I trust you.”

~ ~ ~

It didn’t take long before there was another attempt on Hwanwoong’s life. It was only a few days after Youngjo had told him his story, and while not exactly a surprising event, it still caught the two off guard. After Hwanwoong had found out the truth, Youngjo had insisted that they stay together at all times, even through the nights. While obviously Hwanwoong fought this suggestion, he ended up losing. They switched rooms every night—another suggestion of Youngjo’s—but regardless of whose room they slept in, Hwanwoong always insisted that he sleep on the floor. It was his one condition: he may have to sleep in the same room as Youngjo, but he would absolutely _not_ sleep in the same bed. It didn’t matter to him that they weren’t exactly enemies anymore; he might not hate Youngjo, but he definitely didn’t like him.

It was on a night when they were in Youngjo’s room that it happened. Hwanwoong woke to near complete darkness, the torch in Youngjo’s room mysteriously extinguished. The only light came from where the door stood ajar, letting in some of the dim light from the hallway outside. A shadowy figure stood out against it, the malicious glint of their eyes and the wicked-looking dagger in their hand the only points of brightness against their dark silhouette. Hwanwoong’s heart jumped into his throat. He knew why they were here. But what about Youngjo? Was he awake? Did Hwanwoong even have time to wake him before the intruder would be upon him, silencing him forever? And if he could wake Youngjo up in time, what then? He didn’t know if Youngjo was strong enough to fight someone yet.

But he didn’t have to worry about any of this, because in an instant Youngjo emerged soundlessly from the darkness beside him. He crouched over Hwanwoong protectively, one arm outstretched. Hwanwoong immediately noticed the glimmer of Youngjo’s own dagger, carefully positioned so that the intruder would see.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you.” Youngjo growled softly.

Youngjo’s eyes shone with a hostility that Hwanwoong had never seen before. His gaze was steely, frigid, malevolent. Hwanwoong held in a gasp, a chill running down his spine. He was no longer scared of Youngjo—he hadn’t been for a while—but in that moment, the man looked absolutely _terrifying_. The assassin must have thought so as well, because in his peripheral vision, Hwanwoong could see them shrink back into the doorway, blocking out even more of the meager light from the hallway. Hwanwoong couldn’t take his eyes off of Youngjo, no matter how badly he wanted to. In the now even sparser light, he appeared to be someone else entirely; a stone face with eyes of the coldest ice glared at the figure in the doorway, unmoving as the shadow continued to retreat.

This was not the kind, lovely Youngjo that Hwanwoong knew, and he was struck by the realization that if Youngjo had ever wanted to harm him, this was most definitely the side he would have seen. This side, that was so ready to hurt others at the slightest sign of defiance. Youngjo hadn’t even been like this when he’d accidentally killed his henchman to protect Hwanwoong. So what had changed? Why was he now so unbelievably frightening?

The door closed with a slam before swinging back open, and Hwanwoong jumped, glancing up at it to see that the doorway was now vacant; the shadow had disappeared.

“See why I wanted you to stay near me?” Youngjo asked, visibly relaxing. He was looking down at Hwanwoong now, all traces of malice gone from his expression. Hwanwoong nodded, too shocked to say anything immediately.

“Y-Youngjo.” He finally choked out, unable to organize his thoughts into a coherent sentence. He couldn’t remember when he’d started, but he was now trembling.

“Are you alright, dearest?” Youngjo’s dagger clattered against the floor. His tone was so gentle, his eyes were so soft… He was back to his normal self. It was too much. Instead of answering, Hwanwoong closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. He wasn’t sure why he felt like this.

“Hwanwoong?”

This was all so _wrong_. The leader of his country, who he’d faithfully served for so long, was the one trying to have him killed, and the man who was supposed to be the biggest threat to his safety was the one protecting him. The worst part was that while he would have found everything that was happening strange, he wouldn’t have realized any of this if Youngjo hadn’t told him. It'd been days Youngjo had turned his world upside down, but for some reason Hwanwoong’s new reality had only truly hit him now. He hated it, not because of its harshness, but because he wasn’t sure where he fit into it. What was he supposed to do now? Was he destined to remain at Youngjo’s manor, constantly on the lookout for his next potential assassin? He couldn’t live like that. But what else could he do? Despair built up inside him, a feeling he’d never experienced before. That new sensation, despair, scared him deeply.

He flinched away from the soft touch of fingers grazing his face, opening his eyes. Youngjo was still peering down at him through the half-light, clearly concerned. Hwanwoong cleared his throat and forced himself to speak.

“I’m sorry, I…” He faltered, trailing off.

What could he say? How could he possibly put into words everything he was currently feeling? But he didn’t need to say anything, because Youngjo spoke again,

“Don’t apologize. I’m sure it’s frightening, having people continuously coming after you.”

Well, Youngjo was correct to assume that Hwanwoong was frightened, although he’d been somewhat off on why. It was true that Hwanwoong was unsettled by the attempts to assassinate him, but there was so much more to fret about than just that.

“But you shouldn’t worry too much. As long as I’m here, you’ll be safe.” Youngjo said, standing.

Would he always be, though? What if someday, somehow Youngjo couldn’t do anything?

Youngjo picked something up off of the small table beside his bed, then walked to where the torch on his wall stood, extinguished. He fumbled with what he was holding for a moment—matches, Hwanwoong realized—before lighting the torch. The room filled with a flickering orange light, and now that he could see better, Hwanwoong glanced at his surroundings. Nothing had changed, not that he’d expected it to, but something about ensuring that everything was familiar was comforting. There was a soft noise from the doorway, and Hwanwoong’s attention snapped back to it, fear bubbling up in his throat. But it was only Youngjo shutting the door.

Although, Youngjo wasn’t exactly a comforting presence right now. Hwanwoong eyed him curiously as the man walked back over to where he lay on the floor, still shaking.

“You poor thing,” Youngjo murmured, crouching beside Hwanwoong once again. “Can I—would you mind if...”

Hwanwoong wasn’t sure what Youngjo was trying to ask him. Youngjo slid an arm underneath his torso, and the other under his legs, lifting him. Hwanwoong immediately tensed, breath catching in his throat.

“What are you—”

“Sleep in the bed for tonight. If you really want I’ll take the floor, but I won’t let you sleep on that cold miserable floor in this state.” Youngjo stood, easily picking Hwanwoong up despite supposedly not being back to his full strength yet.

Hwanwoong didn’t know what to say. Youngjo was warm, and even though he despised the fact that he was touching the man, something told him that he was safe. He relaxed, if only slightly, and didn’t protest to Youngjo holding him. Youngjo carried him over to the bed.

“I don’t know if this will mean much to you, Hwanwoong, but I’ll always protect you. I promise.” He set Hwanwoong down, pulling away from him as he stood up.

Immediately, Hwanwoong missed the warmth that the other man had provided, if only for a few seconds. Maybe it was wrong of him, but he wanted it back. He grabbed one of Youngjo’s retreating hands, stopping him.

“Don’t,” Hwanwoong whispered. “Um, please don’t go. I’m still… I’m still a little frightened.”

In the glow of the torchlight, Youngjo looked as if his face was flushed, but Hwanwoong was sure he was only imagining it.

“Okay,” Youngjo got into his bed, laying down beside Hwanwoong. “Uh, Hwanwoong? You’re still holding my hand.”

“Oh.” Hwanwoong let go, embarrassed. He was acting like a child. He was supposed to be a hero, for goodness sake. Although, he wasn’t quite sure what a hero was anymore. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to be one.

“I meant what I said before, y’know.”

“What?”

“I promise that I’ll always protect you. You don’t have to worry.” Youngjo said.

Hwanwoong considered this for a moment. Was Youngjo being sincere? He did say that he’d never lie to Hwanwoong. Also, Hwanwoong had never seen that terrifying side of him until that night, and Youngjo had only become like that _because_ of him—in his determination to keep Hwanwoong safe. If Youngjo was always so warm and kind, but changed so drastically in order to protect him… well, maybe he should be grateful. Not only that, but maybe he should believe in him. After a moment of thought, he responded,

“I know.”

They laid in silence for a while, Hwanwoong slowly relaxing enough to become drowsy, his eyelids growing heavy. But just as he was about to sleep, the bed shifted and he felt Youngjo leaving his side. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked to where Youngjo was frozen halfway out of bed, staring at him with a startled expression.

“Sorry, dearest, I thought you were asleep.”

Hwanwoong shook his head. He wasn’t sure why Youngjo was getting up, but quite frankly, he didn’t really care at the moment.

“Stay.” He mumbled, his eyes already starting to close again.

Youngjo didn’t say anything, silently laying back down beside him. As Hwanwoong’s eyes fully shut, he felt the slightest brush of a hand stroking his cheek. If he’d been more awake, and the circumstances had been any different, he would’ve immediately pushed Youngjo away from him, but he was already too far gone to be bothered.

When he awoke, Youngjo was still there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't quite get this out as early as I wanted, but it's here now!! I hope you enjoyed :))  
> Thank you so much for all the support, I love reading your comments hehe  
> I have another midterm this week so the next chapter might be late, but I'll do my best to be on time :P  
> Anyway, thanks for reading!! 
> 
> *random side note: I changed things around so that Youngjo is the oldest of his siblings, I don't really think it's that important but I figured it would work best for the purpose of this fic y'know


End file.
